LIBRARY  OF  PRINCETON 

I  . 

1 

MAY  5  2003  |  4 

THE 

OLOG'CAL  SEMINARY 

Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2019  with  funding  from 
Princeton  Theological  Seminary  Library 


https://archive.org/details/tentlifeinholylaOOprim 


TENT 


IN  THE  HOLY  LAND. 


X 


BY 

WILLIAM  C. 


PRIME, 


AUTHOR  OF  “BOAT  LIFE  IN  EGYPT  AND  NUBIA,”  “THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY 
THE  RIVER,”  “LATER  YEARS,"  ETC. 


NEW  YORK: 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS, 

FRANKLIN  SQUARE. 


1857. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1S57,  by 
HARPER  &  BROTHERS, 

In  the  Clerk’s  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Southern  District  of 

Hew  York. 


&o  tt)e  ilUmorfl  of 

Nathaniel  6.  prime, 

©nr  tteoerrnb  anb  33elot)eb  ^atljer, 

QJHlio,  tnijflc  toe  tocre  climbing  ti)e  fountains  of  2Lebanon, 
on  the  morning  of  Ibe  ttoentg^sebentb  bag  of  fftarcb, 
m  tije  Year  eighteen  bunbreb  anb  ffftg^sfv, 
bib  ascenb  mto  the  Sublime  anb  Solemn  dtompang 
of  the  patriarchs  anb  prophets 
of  all  2Time, 

3  EUbicate  tl)is  llolume. 


- 


. 


£lrefjtce. 

The  publication  of  Boat  Liee  in  Egypt  and  Nubia, 
a  volume  containing  the  incidents  of  my  journeying  for 
some  months  before  I  reached  the  Holy  Land,  renders 
unnecessary  what  might,  in  ordinary  cases,  be  proper 
by  way  of  preface  to  a  book  like  this. 

I  visited  the  sacred  soil,  as  a  pilgrim,  seeking  mine 
own  pleasure.  I  went  where  it  pleased  me.  I  acted 
as  it  pleased  me,  yielding,  with  delicious  license,  to  the 
whim  of  every  passing  hour.  I  prayed  or  I  laughed; 
I  knelt  or  I  turned  my  back ;  I  wept  or  I  sang ;  and 
when  I  sang  it  was  now  a  song  of  sinful  humanity  and 
now  a  grand  old  monkish  hymn,  to  which  my  voice  made 
the  moonlit  streets  of  Jerusalem  ring  as  I  strolled  along 
them,  or  which  I  sent  floating  over  the  holy  waves  of 
Galilee.  I  have  written  my  book  even  as  I  traveled. 

to.  c.  p. 


New  York,  March  2T,  1851. 


;fBe  receptet  £ton  ilia, 

Sion  iUabib,  urbs  tranquilla! 

Uildelert ,  Archiep.  Tours. 

O  bone  Jesb,  ut  tua  castra  viderunt,  hujus  terrense  Iherusalem  muros,  quantos 
exitus  aquarum  oculi,  eorum  deduxeruntl  Et  mox  terrse  procumbentia  sonitu 
oris,  et  nutu  inclinati  corporis,  Sanctum  Sepulcbrum  tuum  salutaverunt ;  et  te, 
qui  in  eo  jacuisti,  ut  sedentem  in  dextera  Patris  ut  venturum  judicem  omnium, 
adoraverunt I 

Robert  the  Monk.  Liber  IX. 

(Sens  buce  splenbtba,  concto  canbiba  bestibus  albts, 

Sunt  sine  fletibus  in  Sgoit  eebibus,  eebibus  altnis ; 

Sunt  sine  rrimtne,  sunt  sine  turbine,  sunt  sine  lite, 

En  Soon  net  thus,  cbitioribus  Esrarlitee! 

******* 

©  mca,  sprs  meal  tu  Span  aurea,  clarior  auro ! 

^gnune  splenbiba,  stans  buce,  flotiba  perprte  lauro  ; 

©  bona  patria,  nunt  tua  gaubta  teque  bibebo  ? 

©  bona  patria,  num  tua  preemia,  plena  tenebo  ? 

Bernard  de  Clugny. 

For  I  have  come  from  foreign  lands, 

And  seen  the  sun  of  June 
Set  over  the  Holy  Jerusalem; 

And  its  towers  beneath  the  moon. 

And  I  have  stood  by  the  Sepulchre 
Where  our  good  Lord  was  laid, 

And  drank  of  Siloa’s  brook  that  flows 
In  the  cool  of  its  own  palm  shade. 

Moir. 


J 

Contents, 


L  |tmic  JomineF 

Page 

Last  Dat  in  Egypt — The  Pakty  foe  Syria — My  Servants — Leaving  Al¬ 
exandria — At  Sea — Home  Thoughts — Miriam  Sleeps  on  Deck — Land! 

— The  Land  of  Promise, . 13 


2.  Zhz  feik  Hmttn. 


Landing  at  Jaffa — Eastern  Porters — House  of  Simon — American  Flag 
— Tent  Equipage — Missionaries — Ancient  Joppa — A  Betrothal — The 
Hareem — A  Greek  Girl — The  Tents, . 25 


3.  fog  0f  %  foljolc  €mth 


Breaking  up  the  Camp— Plain  of  Sharon — Tower  at  Kamleh — Lydda — 
Monks  of  Holy  Land — Ramleh — Abud  Marcus — Curious  Coincidence — 
Emmaus — Ajalon — Valley  of  Elah — First  View  of  Jerusalem — Enter¬ 
ing  the  City— Our  Hired  House, . 41 


-I.  (iilljsermme. 


Sunrise  over  Olivet— Tomb  of  the  Virgin  Mary— Garden  of  Gethsem- 
ane — Moonlight  in  the  Garden, . 58 


Vlll 


CONTENTS. 


§.  &Ije  Jwpulcjjr*. 

Page 

The  Mount  of  Olives — Wine  of  Lebanon — Church  of  the  Holy  Sepul¬ 
chre — Fra  Giovanni — Interior  of  the  Church — Calvary — The  Holy 
Sepulchre— Other  Holy  Places  within  the  Church,  .  .  .  .  6S 


ir.  Haubal  Hjjooa  anb  ^callop-sbell. 


Ferrajj — Effects  of  a  Revolver — Pilgrims  to  the  Holy  Land — The 
Story  of  Foulque  Nerra,  Count  and  Pilgrim, . 85 


7.  Jlomib  about  Jerusalem. 


Site  of  Jerusalem — Its  Hills  and  Valleys — Population  and  Govern¬ 
ment — Supplies  of  Water — General  Aspect — Means  of  Locomotion — 

Via  Dolorosa — Caverns  under  Jerusalem — Our  Horses — Arabian 
Horses, . 99 


#.  ||ToriaIj,  ^iloam,  Ikm,  Calbarg. 


Mount  Moriah — Virgin’s  Fountain — Pool  of  Silo  am — Mount  Zion — Tomb 
of  David — Place  of  the  Last  Supper — American  Jews’  Hospital — 
Jerusalem  of  old, . 119 


0.  Mljere  Jesus  SM'ept. 


Road  to  Bethany — Bethany — Tomb  of  Lazarus — Church  of  the  Ascen¬ 
sion  on  the  Mount  of  Olives — Place  of  Christ’s  Ascension — A  Ride 
Around  Jerusalem — Lepers — Jews’  Place  of  Wailing — Relics  of  An¬ 
cient  Jerusalem, . 129 


10.  £Ije  lllmtbs  anb  (tombs. 


Latin  Monks  of  Terra  Santa — Latin  Convent — Its  Treasures — Relics 
and  Rosaries — Armenian  Convent — American  Soap — Tomb  of  Helena 
— Various  Tombs — Aceldama — Interesting  Tombs — Catacombs  of  Oli¬ 
vet,  . 142^ 


CONTENTS 


IX 


11  §leit  gsracL 

Page 

A  Ghost  in  the  Valley  of  Jehosiiaphat— Story  of  a  Jew— A  Pilgrim 
and  Stranger, . 164 


12.  ^Ije  Posh  of  <®mar. 


Method  of  Obtaining  Admission— Historical  Facts— Dome  of  the  Rock 
— Description  of  the  Principal  Mosk — Rock  of  the  Temple — Praying- 
place  of  Jesus — Pulpit  of  David — The  Temple — Crypts — Knights 
Templar — Grotto  of  Jesus — Golden  Gate, . 174 


13.  GTIje  Slag  of  %  Mlberness. 


Sketch  of  Ourselves — Betuni— Bed  of  the  Kedron — Saint  Sabas — Night 
at  the  Convent — View  of  the  Dead  Sea — Desolate  Hills — Shore 
of  the  Dead  Sea, . 195 


13.  grab  Jora  anb  %  $orban. 


Bath  in  the  Sea — Experiments — Water  of  the  Sea — The  Jordan — Bath 
in  the  Jordan — Blood  Revenge — Jericho — Road  to  Jerusalem,  .  .  210 


Ride  to  Bethlehem — Rachel’s  Grave — Bethlehem — Place  of  the  Na¬ 
tivity — Argument  in  its  favor — Starlight  on  Bethlehem,  .  .  .  223 


13.  Mljerc  ilje  ^fathers  are. 


Pools  of  Solomon — Valley  of  Eshcol — Hebron — Cave  of  Machpelah 
— Oaks  of  Mamre — The  Patriarchs — Visit  to  the  Mosk — Road  to 
Jerusalem, . 23S 

X* 


X 


CONTENTS 


17.  %  f  olg  | bets. 

Page 

General  Topography — Acra  and  Bezetiia — The  Holy  Sepulchre — His¬ 
tory  of  Calvary  and  the  Sepulchre, . 258 

1$.  |£  |  forget  iljce,  #  fmtsalem ! 

Bible  Illustrations — The  Departure — The  Last  Gaze — Beeroth — Beth¬ 
el — Hanging  Betuni— The  Tents  Missing— Found, . 813 


Iff.  ^Ijctljem,  mrir  Samaria. 

Shiloh — Mount  Hermon — Jacob’s  Well — Joseph’s  Grave — Ebal  and 
Gerizim — Nablous — The  Samaritans — Samaria — A  Pistol-ball — Jez¬ 
ebel — Esdraelon, . 326 


20.  Jlaht  aab-  ^a^auetlj. 

Shunem  —  Nain — River  Kishon  —  Endor  —  Nazareth — Virgin’s  House — 
Hospitality  of  Monks — Hill  above  Nazareth — View  from  the  Hill — 
Mount  Tabor — Battles  near  Tabor, . 341 


21.  Pfllg  €x 0Sftt. 

Reginald  of  Chantillon — A  Gallant  Fight — Jacques  de  Maill& — 
Gathering  of  the  Christian  Army — Battle  of  Hattin — The  Loss  of 
the  True  Cross— From  Tabor  to  Tiberias— Sea  of  Galilee— The  Old 
Man’s  Memory, . 353 


22.  S$Ijtptackl>  mx  Imlike. 

Simon  Peter’s  Successor — On  the  Sea — Outlet  of  the  Jordan — A  Storm 
on  the  Sea — Toiling  and  Rowing — Cast  Away  on  the  Land  of  the 
Gadarenes— Fording  the  Jordan, . 870 


23.  <l\t  Waxa  of  Sakrias. 


Sunday  Morning — Carpets  and  Cigars — Buying  Wine — Sarat  of  Tiberias 
— A  Galilee  Wine-Cellar — Old  Coins,  . . 3S2 


CONTENTS 


XI 


24.  Clje  Upper  gorban. 

Page 

Tiberias  —  Magdala  —  Capernaum  —  Joseph's  Pit — A  Gazelle  Chase  — 
Mill  of  Malaha— Our  Brother — Sources  of  the  Jordan — Arrival  at 
Banias, . 388 


25.  Caesarea  |JfjiIippi. 


Fountain  of  Banias— Last  Night  on  Holy  Soil— A  Ruined  Castle — 
Route  over  Mount  Hermon — Beit  Jin, . 401 


24.  Cjje  jlrfos  of  |§rrmon. 

A  Moslem  Village — The  Druses — A  Murder  and  Burial — Miriam’s  Tent 
— An  Enemy — The  Cook’s  Bravery— Snowed  under — Hiring  a  House — 
Wanted  a  Bible, . 407 


27.  Cbm  anb  a  gangbfer  of  Cbr. 


From  Beit  Jin  to  Damascus — Damascus — Fountains — Mosk  of  Yeye — 
Around  Damascus — A  Tale  of  Passion — The  Countess  Ianthe,  .  .  420 


24.  Damascus. 

Khans — Houses — A  Jew’s  Palace — The  Seven  Sleepers — American  Mis¬ 
sion — A  Camel-Driver’s  Goad— Betuni — Our  Father — The  Hills  of 
Heaven, . 432 


2lf.  Crossing  gjrti-gTebanon. 

Great  Spring  at  Feejee — Abila — Tomb  of  Abel — Ancient  Public  Works 
— Inscriptions — Tombs — An  Aqueduct — Zebdani — Ferrajj,  .  .  .  443 


54.  Clje  Cifn  of  %  £mn. 

Baalbec — Immortality — The  Ruins  of  Heliopolis— Immense  Stones — Gen¬ 
eral  Description  of  the  Ruins — Inscriptions, . 456 


Xll 


CONTENTS 


31,  £ljt  'jfyam  of  Srlranoit. 

Page 

Miriam’s  Levee— Eose,  Suzain,  and  Alila — Marrying  for  Love— Grave 
of  Salah-e’deen — Speculations  on  the  Ruins  of  Baalbec — Ward  a  the 
Rose, . 4G9 


32,  ®(re  J^orm. 

Crossing  the  Plain — Perilous  Situation— Rising  Streams — Arrival  at 
Maalakha — A  Christian  House,  and  Doubtful  Family — Tomb  of  Noah,  475 


33.  CJjristhw  JUjbkrs. 

Injured  and  Insulted — Appeal  to  the  Governor — A  Court  of  Special 
Sessions — Crossing  Lebanon — Night  on  the  top  of  a  Khan — Beyrout — 

The  Sea — The  last  Gallop  with  Mohammed — Departure  from  Holy 
Land, . 484 


Advice  to  Travelers  Visiting  Syria, 


495 


Siftiiftijs  S  oh)  in  el 

To  see  the  sun  go  down  beyond  the  Sepulchre  and  rise 
over  the  mountain  of  the  Ascension,  to  bare  my  forehead 
to  the  cold  dews  of  Gethsemane,  and  lave  my  dim  eyes 
in  the  waters  of  Siloam,  to  sleep  in  the  company  of  the 
infinite  host  above  the  oaks  of  Mamre,  and  to  lie  in  the 
starlight  of  Bethlehem  and  catch,  however  faintly,  some 
notes  of  the  voices  of  the  angels,  to  wash  off  the  dust  of 
life  in  the  Jordan,  to  cool  my  hot  lips  at  the  well  of  Sa¬ 
maria,  to  hear  the  murmur  of  Gennesareth,  giving  me 
blessed  sleep — was  not  all  this  worth  dreaming  of — worth 
living  for — was  it  not  worth  dying  for  ? 

And  all  this  I  was  to  accomplish — not  in  some  dim 
future,  but  to-morrow — to-morrow ! 

Yea,  there  lay  Holy  Land  and  thither  my  pilgrim  feet 
would  carry  me  ere  three  suns  had  risen  and  set. 

How  I  shrank  from  the  sea  lest  it  should  engulf  me 
before  I  had  seen  Jerusalem — how  I  trembled  lest  the 
nerves  and  sinews  should  fail  me  and  the  delicate  thread 
of  life  break  before  I  could  kneel  at  the  Tomb!  Howl 
looked  earnest,  longing,  clinging  gazes  at  my  wife,  lest 
some  dire  mishap  should  prevent  that  perfect  joy  of  our 
glad  lives  and  forbid  our  standing  together  on  the  Mount 
of  Olives. 

We  were  on  the  shore  of  the  Mediterranean,  two  miles 


14 


LAST  DAY  IN  EGYPT. 


eastward  of  the  walls  of  Alexandria,  on  the  mounds  of  the 
ancient  city.  The  sun  was  going  down  behind  the  old 
castle  on  the  point.  In  its  very  burning  glory,  and  after¬ 
ward  in  the  deep  soft  flush  of  twilight,  I  saw  the  fast- 
vanishing  vessel  in  which  the  companions  of  our  Egyptian 
winter  were  going  to  Italy. 

Turning  to  the  east  I  looked  at  the  gray  horizon,  be¬ 
yond  which  lay  the  Holy  Land,  and  the  momentary  feeling 
of  lonesomeness  at  parting  with  the  only  persons  in  the 
East  to  whom  we  were  bound  by  ties  of  kindred,  and 
whose  good  companionship  had  been  half  the  delight  of 
those  months  on  the  Nile,  gave  place  to  a  thrill  of  keen 
pleasure  at  the  thought  that  right  there  away  lay  Jeru¬ 
salem,  and  in  four  days  more  we  should  be  within  the 
holy  gates. 

The  evening  came  down  with  all  the  soft  and  quiet 
beauty  of  Egypt,  and  the  sky  was  more  brilliant  with  stars 
than  ever  before.  Night  after  night  we  had  thought  and 
said  the  same  thing,  and  this,  which  was  to  be  our  last 
night  in  Egypt,  was  to  our  unwearied  eyes  most  beautiful 
of  all. 

The  first  chill  breath  from  the  sea  warned  us  homeward. 
Mounting  our  donkeys,  we  woke  up  the  donkey-boys  who 
lay  curled  up  in  the  corner  of  a  broken  tomb,  and  by  dint 
of  the  usual  amount  of  beating  and  shouting  we  succeeded 
in  getting  up  a  reasonable  speed  and  went  over  the  deso¬ 
late  hills  to  the  gate  of  the  city. 

In  the  streets  of  Alexandria  all  was  busy  and  noisy.  As 
we  entered  at  the  open  Rosetta  gate  we  met  the  usual 
crowd  of  soldiers  and  women,  a  wedding  procession  and 
a  funeral  wailing.  A  party  of  half  drunken  Turks  nearly 
rode  over  us  in  their  carriage,  a  mishap  which  cost 
their  driver  a  swinging  blow  from  the  end  of  my  koor- 
bash  as  he  dashed  by  me,  and  Mustapha  Bey,  followed  by 
his  retinue  of  servants,  paused  a  moment  as  he  met  us,  to 


OUR  PARTY. 


15 


exchange  a  cheerful  good-evening  which  proved  to  be  a 
farewell,  for  we  did  not  see  him  again.  He  had  been  my 
friend  on  sundry  occasions  in  Cairo  and  was  very  much 
of  a  gentleman  in  his  ways.  Dashing  on  at  as  much  speed 
as  a  donkey  gallop  can  be  accused  of,  we  came  to  the 
door  of  Caesar  Tortilla’s  Hotel  d’  Europe,  the  pleasantest 
in  Iskandereyeli. 

Franks  and  Saracens,  Jews,  Turks,  and  Infidels  crowd¬ 
ed  the  sidewalk,  and  talked  more  languages  than  was 
necessary  to  the  scattering  at  Babel.  Donkeys  and  don¬ 
key-boys,  speaking  English  equally  well,  assisted  to  in¬ 
crease  the  confusion  while  they  settled  their  accounts 
with  their  late  employers.  Through  this  mass  we  pushed 
our  way  up  to  the  dining-room,  where  we  found  dinner 
on  the  table,  it  having  been  delayed  for  our  return,  as 
Miriam  was  the  only  lady  in  the  hotel. 

There  was  to  be  an  arrival  from  Cairo  that  evening. 
That  is  to  say  the  viceroy’s  orders  for  a  train  had  been 
published,  but  that  by  no  means  insured  its  running,  for 
it  was  a  very  common  thing  to  have  a  train  withdrawn 
on  the  morning  that  it  was  announced  for,  and  many  pas¬ 
sengers  seriously  discommoded  thereby. 

We  had  not  advanced  far,  however,  in  the  business  of 
dinner,  always  a  lengthy  and  a  serious  business  after  a 
day  among  the  relics  of  an  old  city,  when  a  general  out¬ 
burst  of  the  aforementioned  crowd  at  the  door  of  the 
hotel  announced  an  arrival,  and  a  few  minutes  later  our 
friend  Moreright  entered. 

It  had  been  uncertain,  when  we  left  him  in  Cairo, 
whether  he  would  join  us,  and  we  had  therefore  made 
no  arrangements  for  him,  but  he  had  concluded  to  ac¬ 
company  us  as  far  as  Jerusalem,  and  our  party  was  there¬ 
fore  complete. 

Our  company  for  the  Holy  Land,  and  as  far  to  the 
eastward  as  circumstances  would  permit,  consisted  only 


16 


MY  SERVANTS. 


of  my  friend  Whitely,  and  Miriam  and  myself.  But 
Moreright,  and  Mr.  De  Leon,  our  accomplished  and  ex¬ 
cellent  consul-general  in  Egypt,  with  Mr.  S - of  Bal¬ 

timore,  having  agreed  to  accompany  ns  as  far  as  the 
Holy  City,  we  had  as  pleasant  a  party  for  the  start  as 
could  well  he  desired.  We  gathered  around  the  claret 
after  dinner,  and  discussed  the  plans  for  our  landing  at 
Jaffa  and  proceedings  thereafter.  For  although  Jaffa 
and  Alexandria  are  neighboring  ports,  it  is  impossible  in 
one  to  obtain  any  information  about  the  other.  I  had 
taken  Abd-el-Atti  with  me.  Ilis  conduct  as  dragoman 
for  five  months  previous  had  been,  without  exception, 
good,  and  for  intelligence,  activity,  and  capability,  I  was 
very  certain  I  should  not  find  his  superior.  W ere  it  pos¬ 
sible  to  obtain  a  Mohammedan  dragoman,  who  was  a 
native  of  Syria,  I  should,  on  some  accounts,  have  pre¬ 
ferred  one,  but  this  aj:>peared  to  be  out  of  the  question. 
All  the  Syrian  dragomans  that  I  could  find  were  Christ¬ 
ians.  My  prince  of  cooks,  Hajji  Mohammed,  had  en¬ 
listed  in  my  service  again,  having  been  well  pleased  with 
his  Egyptian  term,  and  Ferrajj,  largest,  and  blackest,  and 
best  of  1ST ubian  servants.  Ferrajj  Abd- Allah,  which  being 
interpreted,  meaneth  trusty  servant  of  God,  having  left 
me  in  Cairo,  possessed  of  my  recommendation  as  a  most 
trusty  servant  of  men,  could  not  find  it  in  his  heart  to 
part  from  us  so  long  as  we  were  in  Mohammedan  land, 
for  he  had  a  horror  of  only  one  thing,  to  wit,  becoming  a 
Christian.  Ferrajj  rejoined  us,  or  rather  never  left  us  but 
for  half  a  day,  and  was  always  at  Miriam’s  back. 

In  Cairo  I  had  three  tents  made  under  Abd-el-Atti’s 
supervision.  They  were  extra  stout,  of  the  best  canvas 
I  could  procure,  and  lined  throughout  with  cotton  cloth. 
I  could  probably  have  purchased  tents  at  Jaffa  much 
cheaper,  but  I  could  not  find  such  as  these  any  where  in 
the  East,  and  I  was  desirous  of  securing  Miriam’s  com- 


LEAVING  ALEXANDRIA. 


17 


fort  in  a  journey  which  was  likely  to  be  attended  with 
much  exposure.  The  top  of  her  tent-pole  was  fitted  with 
a  flagstaff,  upon  which  we  literally  nailed  the  American 
flag,  the  small  one  which  we  had  used  on  the  Nile,  and 
above  it  stood  an  eagle  with  outspread  wings,  as  good 
an  imitation  of  the  bird  of  Jove  and  America  as  a 
Cairene  could  get  up.  Our  bedsteads  w*ere  iron,  the 
bedding  entirely  new,  and  consequently  free  from  vermin 
of  every  description.  These,  with  various  cases  of  pro¬ 
visions,  and  the  canteens  containing  the  table  furniture, 
we  had  sent  from  Cairo,  and  they  were  already  on  board 
the  steamer. 

We  were  therefore  ready  to  embark,  and  as  we  were 
to  sail  early  in  the  morning  we  had  determined  to  go  on 
board  that  night,  and  were  now  passing  our  last  hours  in 
Egypt.  The  rooms  were  filled  with  our  party  and  friends 
who  called  to  bid  us  good-by,  until  nine  o’clock,  when 
the  carriage  was  announced. 

Among  my  friends  in  Alexandria  with  whom  I  parted 
last  and  most  reluctantly,  was  the  vice-consul  of  Sweden 
and  Norway,  Mr.  Petersen,  a  gentleman  whose  personal 
accomplishments  would  have  won  our  regard  even  if  we 
had  not  been  so  highly  indebted  to  him  for  kindness  and 
attention  during  this  and  my  former  visit  at  Alexandria. 

Our  carriage-wheels  alone  broke  the  profound  stillness 
now  resting  on  the  city  of  the  great  son  of  Philip. 
Down  one  street,  along  a  narrow  passage,  through  a 
more  narrow*  and  dark  wray,  where  the  houses  on  each 
side,  almost  meeting  over  our  heads,  hid  the  stars  from 
view;  plunging  into  a  mud-hole  here,  crashing  over  a 
pile  of  stone  there,  scraping  the  front  doors  wTith  the 
hubs  of  our  wheels,  and  threatening  constantly  to  tear 
them  open  and  exhibit  the  heterogeneous  contents  of  the 
Alexandrian  shops,  we  dashed  furiously,  the  horses  at  a 
full  gallop,  tow*ard  the  shore,  preceded  by  two  Nubian 


18 


THE  LANDING  PLACE. 


runners  bearing  the  blazing  meshallak  torches,  that 
glared  furiously  on  the  latticed  fronts  of  the  houses,  and 
awoke  the  slumbering  Egyptians  with  dreams  of  fire,  until 
torches  and  carriage  drew  up  suddenly  at  the  water-gate 
of  the  city.  After  the  usual  loud  barking,  yelping,  and 
yelling  of  twenty  or  thirty  dogs  was  over,  a  profound 
stillness  settled  on  the  scene. 

The  old  gateway  hung  gloomily  over  us.  Near  its  two 
posts,  leaning  on  the  long  handles  of  their  torches,  were 
the  two  Nubians,  black  as  the  night,  with  eyes  flashing 
like  stars.  The  smothered  blaze  lit  the  scene  with  a  low, 
fitful  glare,  and  the  horses  threw  up  their  nostrils  and 
snorted  their  impatience,  while  we  dismounted  and  waited 
the  opening  of  the  gates. 

We  had  the  password  for  the  night;  and  a  small  door  at 
the  side  of  the  great  gate  was  at  length  opened  by  two 
sleepy  soldiers,  who  came  out  of  the  guard-house  so  slowly 
that  I  refused  them  the  bucksheesh  that  they  demanded, 
and  that  I  had  intended  giving. 

It  was  a  different  looking  landing-place  from  that 
which  we  had  been  accustomed  to  see  by  daylight.  All 
was  profoundly  still  and  calm.  There  was  not  a  voice  in 
the  air  or  on  the  sea ;  no  utterance  of  man  or  God  to 
break  the  silence.  The  noisy  Arabs,  groaning  camels, 
and  shouting  donkey-boys  that  infest  the  spot  at  other 
hours,  were  as  if  they  had  been  in  the  tombs  of  the 
Pharaohs ;  and  in  very  truth  there  was  no  stretch  of 
imagination  necessary  to  make  that  the  city  of  the  an¬ 
cient  days,  Alexandria  the  great,  and  yonder  Pharos,  the 
wonder  of  the  world.  There  was  a  strange  majesty  in 
the  appearance  of  earth,  and  air,  and  sea  that  night ;  and 
I  would  not  exchange  those,  my  last  impressions  of  the 
land  of  Egypt,  for  any  that  I  can  think  possible. 

I  commanded  perfect  silence,  for  the  Arabs  could  not 
long  keep  their  lips  shut,  and  for  a  moment  I  looked 


AN  ARAB  ROW. 


19 


back  at  the  walls  of  the  city,  and  the  front  of  the  custom¬ 
house,  which  the  moonlight  converted  into  a  Grecian  tem¬ 
ple  ;  and  my  vision  swept  back  through  all  the  changes 
of  two  thousand  years ;  with  memories  of  the  queen  of 
beauty,  and  luxury ;  of  the  great  first  of  the  Caesars ;  of  the 
preaching  of  John,  whose  surname  was  Mark;  of  the  flames 
that  followed  the  invasion  of  Omar  ;  of  a  thousand  scenes, 
down  to  the  departure  of  the  child  of  destiny,  one  only 
of  which  would  have  made  Alexandria  memorable  for¬ 
ever.  The  full  moon  and  silent  stars  shone  as  calmly  and 
coldly  as  ever  on  the  scene,  even  as  in  the  centuries  of 
old  ;  and  a  meteor,  a  swift  star,  that  seemed  to  have  been 
resting  on  the  zenith,  and  to  have  lost  its  throne  of  glory, 
went  rushing  down  the  eastern  sky,  and  vanished  toward 
J  erusalem. 

I  smiled,  and  Miriam  nestled  close  to  me,  as  we  sat 
down  in  the  boat  and  fixed  our  eyes  together  on  that 
star,  and  the  spot  'where  it  disappeared;  and  I  believe 
that  for  a  moment  we  both  felt  the  warm  floods  pressing 
toward  our  eyelids  as  we  remembered  the  lands  far  'west, 
and  bethought  us  of  the  fewr  hours  that  was  between  ns 
and  the  end  of  our  pilgrimage — the  city  of  our  Lord. 

Our  reveries  were  most  rudely  interrupted.  Our 
baggage  had  gone  on  board  in  the  morning.  One  trunk 
alone  remained,  which  'we  had  packed  to  go  on  to  Bey- 
rout,  and  there  await  our  arrival  after  vTe  should  have 
finished  our  Syrian  tour.  This  we  had  with  us ;  and  it 
wras  over  this  that  one  of  those  infernal  Arabian  squabbles 
arose.  No  description  will  convey  any  idea  of  an  Arab 
dispute.  Three  voices  sound  like  thirty  in  their  various 
gutturals  and  falsettos ;  and  in  this  case  there  were  five, 
shouting,  wrangling,  and  swearing  about  the  trunk. 

The  soldiers  at  the  gate  could  not  allow  it  to  pass.  All 
packages  are  examined  on  exit  from  Egypt,  inasmuch  as 
there  are  more  export  duties  than  import.  But  it  is  not 


20 


AT  SEA. 


customary  to  submit  travelers’  baggage  to  examination ; 
nevertheless,  as  we  were  leaving  in  the  night,  the  soldiers 
considered  it  their  duty  to  detain  the  baggage  until 
morning,  that  the  chief  officer  of  the  customs  might 
himself  order  it  passed.  A  trifling  bucksheesh,  the  cus¬ 
tomary  substitute  for  the  presence  of  the  chief  officer, 
would  not  answer  the  purpose  in  this  instance,  and  this 
was  the  cause  of  the  row,  for  it  was  a  row,  and  nothing 
else.  Two  of  the  soldiers  were  willing,  and  a  third,  a 
Nubian,  was  unwilling  ;  and  it  appeared,  from  a  whisper 
that  one  of  the  two  gave  in  my  ear,  that  they  had  had  a 
quarrel  with  him,  and  he  was  not  friendly  to  them,  and 
was  unwilling  to  allow  them  to  receive  any  bucksheesh, 
even  to  the  extent  of  sacrificing  it  himself,  a  moral  valor 
perfectly  astounding  in  an  Oriental.  The  quarrel  grew 
furious,  and  the  voices  became  intolerable,  when — I  am 
not  certain  how  it  happened,  but  I  saw  F errajj  suspiciously 
near  the  Nubian’s  legs,  there  was  a  tremendous  splash  in 
the  sea,  just  under  the  stern  of  the  boat,  and  a  sudden 
stillness  on  the  land,  while  the  trunk  was  tumbled  in,  and 
we  pushed  off  toward  the  steamer.  I  looked  back  long 
enough  to  see  the  fellow  climb  the  side  of  the  low  pier, 
and  to  hear  the  laughter  of  his  companions.  How  they 
settled  it  I  never  knew.  The  sea  plashed  around  the 
bow  of  the  boat,  and  under  the  blades  of  the  oars,  as 
we  pulled  out  into  the  harbor.  An  hour  later  we  were 
safe  on  board  the  Italia ,  and  sleeping  soundly. 

The  afternoon  of  the  second  day  out  was  far  from 
pleasant.  A  wild  gale  of  wind  was  blowing  from  the 
northward,  and  it  began  to  be  exceedingly  doubtful 
whether  we  should  be  able  to  effect  a  landing  at  Jaffa,  in 
which  case  it  would  be  necessary  to  go  on  to  Haifa,  and 
materially  disarrange  all  our  plans.  The  sun  was  bright, 
however,  and  the  lee  side  of  the  deck  not  uncomfortable. 
We  had  found  it  impossible  to  remain  below  in  the  small 


FERRAJJ  THE  FAITHFUL. 


21 


cabin,  and,  having  spread  our  Persian  carpets,  we  sat 
down  or  lounged  on  the  deck,  and  read,  as  the  ship  rolled, 
enjoying  the  voyage  as  keenly  as  good  company  and  good 
books  could  be  expected  to  enable  us. 

It  is  not  to  be  denied  that  one  or  two  of  the  party  left 
the  dinner  table  somewhat  abruptly,  but  this  was  ac¬ 
counted  for  by  several  suppositious  reasons.  No  one  was 
precisely  sea-sick.  I  have  seldom  seen  any  one,  in  the 
cabin  of  any  vessel  in  which  I  have  traveled,  who  was 
sea-sick.  Curious  disordered  states  of  the  stomach,  dys¬ 
peptic  symptoms,  disarrangements  of  the  bile  and  indi¬ 
gestion,  have  been  frequent  complaints,  but  always  cured 
by  shore  air,  and  therefore  not  alarming,  though  so  very 
common. 

As  the  evening  came  down,  a  low  mist  was  driving 
along  the  sea,  and  the  gale  increased  in  violence.  The 
ship  tossed  and  strained  her  creaking  timbers,  and 
threw  herself  down  in  the  deep  hollow  of  the  waves,  and 
sometimes  the  white  spray  went  over  her  foretop,  and 
blue  water  came  rushing  aft  to  the  quarter-deck  ladder, 
and  rolled  off  in  the  scuppers.  But  the  first  officer 
was  very  certain  that  there  was  enough  of  easterly  in  the 
wind  to  enable  us  to  make  a  harbor  at  Jaffa,  and  we  were 
patient  and  content. 

Ferrajj  was  ill  when  we  left  Cairo,  and  was  now  so  much 
worse  that  I  became  alarmed  about  him.  He  was  always 
as  black  as  the  room  in  the  great  pyramid  without  can¬ 
dles,  and  his  teeth  were  whiter  than  his  eye-balls ;  but 
now,  his  blackness  was  as  deep  as  the  same  room  in  a 
dark  night,  if  that  could  make  it,  or  he  could  be,  any 
blacker,  and  his  teeth  contrasted  with  his  face  in  a  man¬ 
ner  that  was  actually  frightful.  I  am  not  writing  very 
feelingly  about  it  now,  but  I  was  very  anxious  for  the 
poor  fellow.  He  was  worth  his  weight  in  gold,  and  we 
had  become  attached  to  him,  as  I  believe  he  had  to  us. 


22 


HOME  THOUGHTS. 


I  wrapped  him  up  as  carefully  as  the  circumstances  would 
permit,  and,  giving  him  such  medicine  as  I  thought 
proper  for  his  case,  left  him  to  sleep.  Ten  minutes  after¬ 
ward  his  huge  form  was  visible  as  he  crawled  aft  with  my 
bournoose,  or  Syrian  cloak,  which  I  had  left  near  him,  and 
which  he  knew  I  would  want  in  the  night  air  that  now 
came  down  damp  and  chilling.  I  sent  the  faithful  fellow 
back;  and,  throwing  myself  down  on  my  carpet,  under 
the  lee  of  the  cabin  hatchway,  by  the  side  of  Miriam,  who 
was  transformed  into  a  bundle  of  shawls  and  cloaks,  with 
a  pair  of  bright  eyes  peeping  out  of  it,  I  talked  a  little 
while,  and  then  I  dreamed — not  sleeping  dreams — far 
otherwise — broad  awake  dreams,  such  as  God  hath  in 
mercy  granted  poor  humanity  the  power  to  dream. 

In  long  gone  years  I  had  sometimes  thought  of  Holy 
Land.  In  my  home  in  the  up  country,  standing  by  my 
father’s  knee,  I  had  heard  him  tell  of  the  hills  of  Jeru¬ 
salem.  Lying  in  my  mother’s  arms,  year  after  year,  I  had 
slept  peaceful  sleep  as  she  sang  the  songs  of  Christian 
story.  Xo  other  music  ever  lulled  my  young  soul  to 
slumber ;  and,  in  later  years,  no  sound  had  ever  half  the 
power  to  calm  the  storms  that  sometimes  swept  over  the 
■wastes  of  my  life — no  other  songs  the  “  peace  be  still” 
effect  those  had  on  the  waves  of  sorrow. 

How  well  I  remembered  them  now  !  My  father’s  head 
was  white  with  the  snows  of  three-score  years  and  ten, 
but  his  footstep  was  as  firm  as  mine.  But,  though  I — I 
— yes,  it  was  even  so — I  knew  it  not — I  was  on  the  bor¬ 
ders  of  Canaan,  my  footsteps  were  entering  Holy  Land 
on  earth,  and  his,  far  away  from  me,  were  on  the  borders 
of  the  Promised  Land  !  I  was  close  to  the  Jerusalem  of 
the  cross,  he  already  close  to  the  Jerusalem  of  the  crown 
— I  was  going  to  lave  my  weary  limbs  in  the  Jordan,  he 
was  to  lie  down  on  the  banks  of  the  river  of  life — I  was 
to  go  wearily  to  Gethsemane  and  the  place  of  death  and 


MIRIAM. 


23 


the  sepulchre,  he  was  passing  swiftly  to  the  presence  of 
the  Risen  Lord. 

How  well  I  remembered  them !  My  mother’s  hand 
taught  my  footsteps  their  first  essays  on  the  sad  earth; 
and  lo  !  here,  what  far  pilgrimage  they  had  accomplished ! 
God  grant  me  safe  return,  to  tell  her  of  the  hills  that 
are  round  about  Jerusalem,  even  as  the  Lord  is  round 
about  such  as  she  ! 

The  moon  rose  up  above  the  mists  and  shone  across  the 
stormy  sea.  I  looked  at  Miriam ;  her  eyes  had  closed ; 
she  was  sleeping  quietly  and  peacefully.  Such  already 
was  the  experience  of  travel,  that  she,  delicately  nourished 
at  home,  and  accustomed  to  shrink  from  the  least  ex¬ 
posure,  whom  I  always  wrapped  in  cloaks  of  a  summer 
evening  when  she  rode  out,  and  whose  feet  scarce  ever 
touched  the  damp  earth  of  America,  could  already  lie  on 
the  deck  of  a  ship  in  a  storm,  with  the  spray  flying  over 
her,  and  sleep  profoundly. 

It  was  no  sad  thought  that  marked  my  countenance  as 
I  looked  at  her.  To  have  accomplished  the  pilgrimage  to 
Holy  Land  was  the  realization  of  a  hope  long  cherished 
almost  despairingly;  but  now  that  it  was  accomplished,  her 
presence  was  the  crowning  joy.  I  had  a  pride  and  a 
pleasure  that  I  can  not  well  make  my  reader  a  partaker 
of,  in  having  successfully  reached  this  point  in  our  jour¬ 
ney,  which  so  many  had  prophesied  we  should  never 
complete.  Nor  was  this  pride  and  pleasure  all.  He  who 
has  known  in  youth  the  delight  of  a  beautiful  scene,  en¬ 
hanced  by  the  presence  of  one  well  beloved,  or  who  in 
later  years  has  found  his  own  keenest  happiness  in  enjoy¬ 
ing  the  happiness  of  those  for  whom  he  would  think  the 
sacrifice  of  his  entire  life  a  very  small  gift,  will  under¬ 
stand  what  I  mean  when  I  speak  of  the  happiness  with 
which  I  saw  my  fragile  little  wife  sleeping  calmly  in  her 
bundle  of  shawls,  on  the  deck  of  the  steamer,  when  the 


24 


“the  pleasant  land.” 

lookout  in  the  foretop  shouted  that  thrilling  word,  in 
whatever  language  of  earth  it  is  uttered,  but  which  was 
tenfold  more  thrilling  now  that  the  shore  before  us  was 
the  Holy  Land. 

“  Up,  Miriam !  awhke ! — it  is  the  Land !” 

She  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  we  staggered  up  to  the 
weather  side,  and  then  up  to  the  lee  rail,  as  the  ship  went 
down  in  the  sea,  but  for  a  little  while  saw  nothing.  And 
then  the  mist  went  up,  up  into  the  sky,  and  the  clear 
moon  was  in  the  bright  blue  on  the  hills  of  Ephraim,  and 
we  saw  the  desire  of  our  eyes,  the  Land  of  Promise. 


<il)e  di'eeli  ut ij- 


We  could  not  obtain  pratique  at  night,  and  were  com¬ 
pelled  to  wait  on  board  the  steamer  until  morning. 

The  appearance  of  Jaffa  from  the  sea  is  picturesque ; 
but  there  is  nothing  about  it  sufficiently  striking  to  im¬ 
press  the  memory.  The  plain  of  Sharon,  which  here  runs 
along  the  coast,  is  not  broken  by  any  high  hills,  though 
the  ground  is  more  uneven  near  the  sea  than  a  few  miles 
inland,  where  it  spreads  out  into  a  broad  prairie-like 
champagne.  Jaffa  itself  is  situated  on  a  bluff  which  is 
somewhat  higher  than  the  land  around  it,  and  which, 
therefore,  makes  the  city  a  commanding  point  in  the 
landscape.  The  sea  washes  the  walls  of  the  city.  There 
is  no  harbor  whatever.  A  reef  of  rocks,  mostly  out  of 
water,  runs  parallel  with  the  shore,  a  few  hundred  feet 
from  it ;  but  there  is  no  anchorage  inside  for  large  ves¬ 
sels,  and,  indeed,  no  channel  by  which  they  could  enter. 
A  breakwater  might  be  constructed,  however,  without  as 
much  expense  as  we  have  often  seen  given  to  less  import¬ 
ant  places;  and  perhaps  the  day  may  come  when  Jerusa¬ 
lem  will  have  a  port  with  a  safe  harbor,  though  when  that 
day  does  come  I  incline  to  think  Haifa  will  be  selected  in 
preference  to  Jaffa. 

There  is,  not  far  from  Jaffa,  a  dark  lake,  separated 
from  the  sea  by  a  narrow  bar,  which  it  is  the  opinion  of 

2 


26 


LANDING  AT  JAFFA. 


competent  judges  could  be  removed  at  a  small  expense, 
opening  a  channel  for  vessels  to  a  safe  and  land-locked 
anchorage.  But  the  mountains  between  the  port  and 
the  Holy  City  offer  a  great  obstacle  to  communication. 
Should  the  time  ever  come  when  a  railway  will  connect 
Jerusalem  with  the  sea,  it  is  apparently  more  practicable 
to  direct  it  to  the  plain  of  Esdraelon  and  the  outlet  of 
the  river  Kishon,  than  down  a  grade  of  thirteen  hundred 
feet  to  the  ancient  Joppa. 

The  shore  boats  were  crowded  alongside  of  the  ship 
when  we  came  on  deck  in  the  morning,  and  Abd-el-Atti 
had  already  commenced  the  disembarking  of  the  bag¬ 
gage.  We  entered  another  boat,  in  which  the  American 
agent  at  Joppa,  Mr.  Murad,  had  come  off,  and  in  a  few 
moments  dashed  off  through  a  narrow  channel  in  the 
reef,  and  up  to  the  dirty  wooden  ladder,  at  the  top  of 
which  were  crowded  the  representatives  of  every  nation 
on  earth,  and  several  others,  as  one  might  well  be  excused 
for  imagining. 

The  din  of  voices  was,  as  usual,  intolerable ;  and  it  was 
for  a  moment  quite  doubtful  whether  we  should  be  able 
to  effect  a  landing.  But  Ferrajj  came  up  at  the  instant  in 
his  boat  with  the  baggage,  and  swinging  a  huge  bag  in  his 
brawny  arms,  sent  it  flying  up  on  the  landing-stage  into 
the  ve_y  faces  of  the  crowd.  It  floored  three,  and  swept 
an  open  space,  into  which  Whitely  sprang,  and  was  fol¬ 
lowed  by  the  party.  We  now  worked  our  way  through 
the  crowd,  having  yielded  to  the  absolute  certainty  of 
the  effects  of  that  contact  with  oriental  vagabonds,  and 
emerged  at  last  in  the  open  street,  under  the  wall  of  the 
city,  which  skirts  the  shore.  Passing  along  this  street, 
and  turning  into  one  more  narrow  and  dirty,  we  as¬ 
cended  sundry  flights  of  steps  to  a  house  over  which  the 
American  flag  was  floating,  and  which  we  knew  thereby 
must  be  the  residence  of  the  consular  agent. 


EASTERN  PORTERS. 


27 


Accepting  Mr.  Murad’s  hospitality  for  the  moment, 
while  I  returned  to  see  that  the  baggage  was  safely 
landed,  I  left  Miriam  in  charge  of  Mrs.  M.,  an  exceed¬ 
ingly  beautiful  Armenian  lady,  and  Whitely  and  myself 
went  down  the  stairways,  and  lost  ourselves,  of  course,  in 
the  labyrinthine  alleys,  called  streets  in  eastern  cities. 
Without  knowing  it  then,  I  inquired  at  the  house  of  Si¬ 
mon  the  Tanner  of  ancient  reputation,  which  was  my  way 
to  the  Austrian  steamer-office  ;  but  my  Arabic  was  unin¬ 
telligible  to  the  black-eyed  little  girl  that  sat  in  the  mud 
near  the  door ;  so  we  pushed  on  till  we  could  hear  the 
terrible  confusion  of  tongues  at  the  landing,  and  then  di¬ 
rected  our  course  accordingly. 

We  were  just  in  time.  Seven  men,  from  as  many  dif¬ 
ferent  rum-shops,  had  as  many  separate  packages  on  their 
backs,  and  in  a  moment  more  we  should  have  been  losers 
of  six  sevenths  of  them.  For  disregard  of  personal  rights 
commend  me  to  the  porters  of  a  Mediterranean  seaport. 
The  plurider  was  going  on  at  a  furious  rate.  They  ap¬ 
peared  to  imagine  that  all  that  pile  had  been  landed  from 
the  steamer  as  a  public  benefit,  free  to  all  comers  to  select 
what  they  wanted. 

Abd-el-Atti  had  gone  on  board  to  look  up  the  camp 
kitchen  equipage,  and  left  the  goods  in  charge  of  the 
cook,  who  was  a  capital  hand  at  a  pasty,  but  a  very 
poor  watchman  among  a  horde  of  his  own  kind  and  kin. 
Ferrajj  arrived  on  the  spot  just  as  we  did,  and  while  he 
boxed  the  ears  of  a  tall  Arab  who  had  my  portmanteau 
on  his  shoulders,  Whitely  upset  a  Nubian  loaded  with 
baskets,  and  I  made  my  koorbash  whistle  around  the 
bare  legs  of  a  half  breed  Italian  and  Greek,  who  danced 
furiously  as  he  dropped  two  carpet  bags  that  he  was 
quite  unable  to  explain  his  intentions  in  regard  to.  I 
don’t  think  the  Jaffa  porters  were  accustomed  to  that 
sort  of  thing.  They  were,  for  once,  most  thoroughly 


28 


HOUSE  OE  SIMON. 


polite,  and  when  I  said  Vanish,  they  vanished,  leaving  us 
with  Hajji  Mohammed  and  Ferrajj  masters  of  the  field, 
and  of  our  own  luggage. 

We  then  ordered  the  tents  to  be  immediately  pitched 
outside  of  the  city  walls,  on  a  green  spot  near  the  quar¬ 
antine  station,  overlooking  the  sea,  and  the  luggage  to 
be  conveyed  to  them  as  rapidly  as  might  be.  This  com¬ 
pleted,  we  had  nothing  to  do  for  an  hour  or  two  but  to 
examine  the  city  of  Jaffa.  Returning  to  Mr.  Murad’s 
house  for  Miriam,  we  walked  out  and  through  the  pass¬ 
ages,  which  surpassed  in  filth  the  worst  parts  of  New 
York,  and  which  seemed  redolent  of  plague,  until  our 
little  guide  informed  us  that  we  were  at  the  house  of 
Simon  the  Tanner,  and  I  recognized  the  same  child  sitting 
in  the  same  mud-hole  that  I  had  seen  an  hour  before 
near  the  entrance. 

The  interior  of  the  house  is  now  transformed  into  a 
sort  of  Mohammedan  praying  place,  having  examined 
which,  wre  went  up  to  the  roof  where  Peter  dreamed 
of  things  clean  and  unclean. 

I  do  not  know  how  old  the  tradition  concerning  the 
house  is,  but  the  house  itself  is  not  very  ancient,  and  the 
locality  is  too  far  up  the  hill  to  meet  the  requirements  of 
the  Scripture  narrative.  Simon  the  Tanner,  resided  by 
the  sea-side.  This  is  by  the  sea-side,  but  elevated  far 
above  it,  and  not  in  a  locality  where  he  would  have  been 
apt  to  carry  on  his  trade,  though  it  is  by  no  means  cer¬ 
tain  that  he  lived  where  his  work  was  done. 

It  is  an  interesting  fact,  however,  that  in  the  afternoon 
I  was  walking  along  the  sea  beach,  looking  for  shells,  and 
at  about  a  fourth  of  a  mile  from  the  city,  to  the  south¬ 
ward,  I  found  two  tanneries  directly  on  the  sea-side.  I 
observed  that  the  rocks  in  front  of  them  were  covered 
with  the  water  a  few  inches  deep,  and  that  they  soaked 
their  hides  on  these  rocks,  and  also  submitted  them  to 


AMERICAN  FLAG. 


29 


some  process  in  the  water  which  I  did  not  stop  to  un¬ 
derstand.  Arguing  from  the  general  fact  that  the  mod¬ 
ern  customs  are  like  the  ancient,  in  all  matters  of  art,  in 
the  East,  and  that  it  was  probable  that  tanneries  in  Jaffa 
were  conducted  two  thousand  years  ago  very  much  as 
now,  I  think  it  not  unreasonable  to  suppose  that  the 
house  of  Simon  the  Tanner  was  situated  at  some  such 
spot  as  this,  and  literally  by  the  sea-side. 

W e  sat  for  a  long  time  on  the  house-top,  for  it  was,  at 
least,  much  such  a  place  as  this  on  which  Peter  slept,  and 
we  could  look  out  on  the  sea  and  over  the  plain  to  the 
south-east,  but  as  noon  approached  we  walked  out 
through  the  streets  to  the  gateway  of  the  city  open¬ 
ing  inland,  and,  passing  through  a  crowd  of  people  oc¬ 
cupied  in  buying  and  selling  the  magnificent  oranges  of 
Jaffa,  which  are  unequaled  in  the  world  elsewhere,  we 
walked  along  the  outside  of  the  old  gray  south  wall  of 
the  city  to  the  green  plot,  back  of  the  quarantine  station, 
and  took  formal  possession  of  our  tents,  which  were  now 
to  be  our  houses  and  palaces  for  some  months. 

The  American  flag  was  floating  gayly  over  Miriam’s 
tent.  It  was  the  first  time,  I  have  reason  to  believe,  that 
it  had  ever  been  seen  in  Syria,  except  guarded  by  officers 
of  the  American  government,  and  I  had  been  assured 
that  it  would  be  dangerous  to  attempt  to  use  it  in  some 
parts  of  the  country.  I  determined  to  trust  its  safety  to 
revolvers,  in  the  hands  of  two  American  travelers,  sup¬ 
ported  by  a  half  dozen  Arabs  who  would  have  died  for 
us,  and  Miriam  volunteered,  with  her  repeater,  to  help  in 
case  of  need.  It  was  never  taken  down  from  that  day 
till  we  left  Syria,  at  Beyrout,  in  the  late  spring,  except 
once  when  the  snows  of  Mount  Lebanon  weighed  it 
down  and  broke  the  staff,  and  it  was  never  insulted  by 
look  or  word  so  far  as  my  knowledge  extended.  On  the 
contrary,  it  was  treated  with  the  utmost  respect  by  Turk- 


30 


TENT  EQUIPAGE. 


ish  officers  in  nil  parts  of  the  Orient,  and  it  was  a  source 
of  pride  to  us  to  find  the  flag  known  in  places  where  we 
had  no  idea  that  the  American  name  had  penetrated. 

The  tents  were  already  the  centre  of  a  large  crowd  of 
curious  natives,  but  a  word  from  Ferrajj  scattered  them, 
and  we  had  quiet  to  examine  our  prospects. 

The  tents  proved  excellent.  Miriam  and  I  occupied 
one,  and  Moreright  and  Whitely  the  other.  There  was 
ample  room  for  four  in  each,  and  we  should,  perhaps, 
have  been  as  comfortable  had  they  been  smaller,  for  air 
was  plenty.  We  had  iron  bedsteads  and  excellent  bed¬ 
ding,  while  the  mats  which  Abdul  Rahman  had  given  us 
in  Nubia,  spread  on  the  ground,  with  the  Persian  carpets 
over  them,  made  a  floor  soft  enough  for  a  queen’s  foot¬ 
step. 

Hajji  Mohammed  had  his  fire  kindled  and  dinner  un¬ 
der  way.  His  kitchen  was  a  long,  shallow  box  of  sheet 
iron,  standing  on  six  legs  that  folded  up,  and  having  a 
perforated  grate-like  bottom.  In  this  he  kindled  a  char¬ 
coal  fire,  and  on  this  simple  affair  he  cooked  us  royal 
dinners.  I  have  eaten  worse  dinners  in  first-rate  hotels  at 
home,  than  he  gave  us  from  that  four  feet  by  one  range 
standing  in  the  open  air.  Abd-el-Atti  was  possessed  of 
a  grand  canteen,  containing  a  full  outfit  of  table-furni¬ 
ture,  from  the  soup  tureen  to  the  wine  glasses.  This  was 
a  present  to  him  from  some  former  traveler,  and  was  in¬ 
valuable  for  his  purposes  as  a  dragoman.  There  was,  in 
fact,  nothing  wanting  to  our  equipment  which  could  be 
imagined,  even  to  gimlets,  which  being  bored  into  the 
tent-poles,  made  pegs  or  hooks  whereon  to  hang  one’s 
dress  at  night.  So  we  threw  ourselves  down  in  our 
tents,  with  the  door  curtains  lifted  toward  the  sea,  and 
lay  looking  out  on  the  blue  Mediterranean,  westward 
and  homeward,  while  the  fire  burned  and  the  servants 
were  busy  preparing  the  dinner,  and  the  crowd  of 


MISSIONARIES. 


31 


Syrians  stood  at  a  distance  eying  us  as  if  they  had  never 
seen  white  men  before,  and  at  length  the  sun  went  to¬ 
ward  the  west. 

We  walked  out  a  little  way  to  call  on  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Saunders,  Americans,  who  are  resident  missionaries  here, 
under  the  patronage  of  an  independent  association  in 
America.  They  are  Seventh-day  Baptists.  I  can  not  here 
omit  expressing  our  admiration  for  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Saun¬ 
ders  personally,  in  which  I  am  very  certain  that  every 
American  who  visits  Jaffa  will  cordially  agree  with  me. 
Their  devoted  attention  to  us,  although  entire  strangers, 
the  kind-hearted  and  earnest  character  of  Mrs.  Saunders, 
her  true  American  and  New  England  welcome  to  Mir¬ 
iam,  and  her  sincere  and  simple  piety  endeared  her  to 
us  so  that  we  shall  not  forget  them  while  we  remember 
the  Holy  Land. 

Their  residence  is  out  of  the  city,  in  an  orange  grove, 
which  it  is  risking  nothing  to  say  has  not  its  equal  on  the 
earth.  No  Sicilian  or  Cuban  orange  grove  can  compare 
with  it  in  luxuriance  or  in  the  size  and  quality  of  the  fruit. 
The  Jaffa  oranges  are  celebrated  throughout  the  Levant, 
where  they  fill  the  entire  market  when  in  season,  to  the 
exclusion  of  all  others,  except  the  Maltese  Mandarin  or 
Yusef  Effendi  orange,  winch,  though  small,  is  a  great 
favorite  for  its  peculiar  flavor  and  the  ease  with  which 
the  rind  comes  off.  When  we  returned  to  the  tents  din¬ 
ner  was  ready ;  and,  while  seated  at  it,  a  basket  of  or¬ 
anges  was  sent  to  us  from  the  Greek  merchant  who  Avas 
the  OAvner  of  the  grove  Ave  had  visited,  and  Avith  it  an  in¬ 
vitation  to  visit  his  house  that  evening  on  occasion  of  the 
feast  of  the  betrothal  of  his  daughter.  We  accepted  the 
invitation,  and  then  strolled  along  the  sea-shore,  gather¬ 
ing  shells  and  listening  to  the  familiar  murmur  of  theAva\res. 

“  It  breaks  on  the  point  at  home,  my  Avife  !  It  is  the 
same  surf  that  rolls  by  Watch-hill  and  Napatree,  and 


32 


JOPPA. 


murmurs  on  the  rocks  at  the  foot  of  the  garden,  and  it 
speaks  the  same  language  all  the  world  over.” 

Miriam  stood  looking  into  the  west  where  the  sun  had 
gone  down,  and  her  large  gray  eyes  were  full  of  tears,  as 
the  old,  old  sound  of  the  waves  that  had  lulled  her  t6 
sleep  from  childhood  in  her  home,  came  up  to  the  tents 
on  the  hill. 

Joppa  is  mentioned  in  2  Chron.  ii.  16,  where  Hiram  of 
Tyre  proposes  to  Solomon  to  furnish  him  wood  out  of 
Lebanon  for  the  temple  at  Jerusalem,  and  bring  it  in 
floats  to  Joppa  ;  and  again,  in  Ezra  iii.  7,  where  the  same 
process  is  spoken  of,  the  bringing  “  cedar-trees  from  Le¬ 
banon  to  the  sea  of  Joppa.” 

This  Joppa  is,  without  doubt,  the  Japho  of  Joshua  xix. 
46,  over  against  which  were  the  borders  of  Dan.  It  was 
a  city  of  variable  governments,  being  sometimes  in  the 
possession  of  the  Philistines,  and  at  others  of  the  tribes  of 
Israel. 

Jonah  took  ship  at  Joppa  (Jonah  i.  3)  for  his  perilous 
adventures  on  and  under  water,  and  it  is  not  again  heard 
of,  until,  in  the  history  of  Tabitha  (Acts  ix.  36),  and  of 
Peter’s  residence  at  the  house  of  Simon  the  Tanner. 

We  dressed  for  the  evening  with  as  much  care  as  our 
limited  wardrobes  would  permit.  I  can  not  say  that  we 
should  have  been  admitted  in  Hew  York  to  a  wedding 
party  in  such  dress.  On  the  contrary,  I  am  afraid  my 

worthy  friend  B - himself  would  have  shouted  for  a 

police-officer,  and  sent  both  Whitely  and  myself  to  the 
Tombs,  if  we  had  ventured  into  his  house  in  such  guise. 
Some  pleasant  evening  I  propose  to  try  him.  Slippers 
instead  of  boots,  silk  shawls  in  place  of  vests,  long  black 
beards,  brown  faces  and  tarbouches,  made  us  somewhat 
such  men  as  you  would  not  like  to  meet  of  a  dark  even¬ 
ing  in  the  avenue  well  up  town,  or  even  on  the  east  side 
of  Broadway  near  Stewart’s. 


A  FEAST. 


S3 


The  governor  had  politely  ordered  the  gates  of  the 
town  to  be  opened  for  us ;  and,  on  our  presenting  our¬ 
selves  before  its  ancient  and  gloomy  portals,  the  pass¬ 
word  was  exchanged,  and  the  dark  archway  became 
visible  as  the  huge  old  valves,  looking  as  if  they  were  of 
the  days  of  Richard  the  Mighty,  swung  back  on  their 
creaking  hinges,  and  we  passed  in  between  the  files  of 
the  guard. 

We  were  separated  at  the  doorway  of  the  house.  The 
ladies  went  to  the  hareem,  while  we  were  conducted  to 
the  gentlemen’s  apartments,  where  we  found  an  imjDosing 
array  of  old  Greeks  and  Mohammedans,  the  venerable 
men  of  Jaffa,  who  had  outsat  the  guests  of  the  day,  and 
were  waiting  to  receive  the  foreigners. 

The  feast  was  one  which  lasted  three  days,  and  we  had 
made  an  error  in  coming  so  late  in  the  evening.  Had  we 
been  earlier  in  the  day  we  should  have  seen  a  greater 
crowd ;  the  ladies  in  the  hareem  informed  Miriam  that 
they  had  two  hundred  narghilehs  in  use  at  one  time 
by  the  ladies.  But  on  other  accounts,  as  will  appear 
hereafter,  it  was  very  fortunate  that  we  came  in  so  late. 

The  chief  room  of  the  suite  into  which  we  were  shown 
was  a  long  chamber  with  raised  diwans  running  all  around 
it,  broken  only  by  the  doors.  The  centre  was  vacant, 
except  as  occupied  by  the  little  pans  which  held  the 
chibouk  bowls  and  caught  the  ashes,  or  by  the  fragrant 
narghilehs,  whose  bubbling  murmur  was  often  the  only 
sound  that  interrupted  the  silence  of  the  room. 

Wine,  the  rich  blood  of  the  grapes  of  Eshcol,  was 
handed  us  in  tiny  cups,  then  old  delicious  arrakee,  and 
then  fruits  and  cakes,  and  jellies,  and  various  oriental 
dishes  in  a  profusion  that  overcame  our  powers  of  ap¬ 
petite. 

I  smile  now  as  I  recall  the  comical  appearance  of  one 
of  our  party  at  a  moment  when  the  Greek  bishop,  a  ven- 

2* 


34 


IIOSPITALITY. 


erable  and  patriarchal  man,  with  flowing  white  heard, 
that  lay  on  liis  breast  like  the  beard  of  Aaron,  finished  a 
long  sentence  which  he  had  addressed  to  him,  and  which 
lie  turned  into  a  question  at  its  conclusion. 

My  unlucky  friend  had  taken  a  chibouk  in  preference 
to  the  sheshee,  and  was  smoking  quietly ;  had  he  been 
wise,  he  might  have  supped  on  the  fragrance  of  that 
delicious  Latakea;  but,  a  rare  cake  of  almoods,  and  a  slice 
of  orange  dipped  in  spiced  wine,  and  a  plate  of  delicate 
jellies,  and  sundry  other  exceedingly  inviting  articles  had 
tempted  him  until  the  moment  that  the  venerable  bishop 
concluded  his  sentence,  which  related  to  the  Patriarch  of 
the  Church,  with  the  question,  “  But  did  you  not  see  him 
in  Iskandereyeh  ?”  and  the  old  man  looked  up  at  my  friend 
for  a  reply,  and  beheld  him  with  the  amber  mouth-piece 
of  the  chibouk  on  his  lip,  each  hand  occupied  in  grasping 
a  delicacy,  and  his  knees  motionless  with  a  load  of  the 
provisions  of  our  worthy  host’s  hospitality. 

ISTo  smile  crossed  the  features  of  the  bishop  nor  of  his 
friends,  though  I  am  compelled  to  admit  that  wTe  were 
strongly  inclined  ourselves  to  unseemly  laughter,  and  it 
required  the  calling  up  of  all  our  newly-acquired  oriental 
manners  to  avoid  it.  My  friend  had  paid  our  host  the 
highest  compliment  he  could  in  thus  accepting  every 
thing,  and  his  compliment  was  evidently  appreciated  as 
such,  and  acknowledged  in  polite  phrases  that  would  have 
sounded  well  at  home. 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  a  small  piece  of  a  dark  night 
slipped  into  the  room  and  around  among  the  chibouks 
and  narghiles  to  my  feet,  where,  pressing  his  forehead  to 
my  hand,  he  contrived  to  whisper  to  me  that  the  “  Sitt 
Miriam”  wanted  to  see  me.  Supposing  thereby  that  she 
was  ready  to  depart,  I  went  out  into  the  large  reception 
room,  but  no  one  was  there.  My  sable  guide  led  on, 
while  I  followed,  strongly  suspicious  that  the  imp  might 


V 


A  II  A  RE  EM.  35 

commit  an  error  and  guide  me  into  forbidden  rooms.  I 
was  not  far  wrong.  Crossing  a  court,  down  into  which 
the  stars  shone,  I  followed  him  into  a  dark  entry  when  he 
threw  open  a  door  and  I  found  myself  in  the  holy  of 
holies  of  an  eastern  house,  that  spot  forbidden  to  the  foot 
of  man  in  all  known  ages  of  Moslem  rule.  The  scene  that 
burst  on  my  astonished  vision  was  worth  a  journey  to  the 
Orient  to  see. 

One  swift  glance  around  the  room  convinced  me  that 
it  was  all  right,  for  I  caught  the  eyes  of  Miriam,  who  was 
curled  up  on  a  crimson  diwan  and  smoking  a  narghile  as  if 
she  had  been  brought  up  to  it  all  her  life,  and  in  a  moment 
I  understood  that  she  had  managed  the  introduction  by 
some  ingenuity  that  I  could  not  have  believed  possible. 

In  Greece  the  seclusion  of  the  hareem  is  unknown.  But 
in  Greek  families  living  in  Egypt  or  Syria  it  is  even  more 
strictly  enforced  than  by  the  Mohammedans  themselves, 
for  the  contempt  which  is  poured  out  on  a  Mohammedan 
woman  who  has  shown  her  face  to  men  is  visited  tenfold 
on  Christians,  who  have  difficulty  in  keeping  their  posi¬ 
tions  in  the  country.  The  footstep  of  a  man  had  never 
crossed  this  threshold  before,  except  of  a  father  or 
brother,  and  the  inhabitants  of  this  retreat  shrank  at 
first  in  terror  from  having  their  faces  seen  by  a  stranger. 

It  was  by  adroit  management,  by  proposing  it  as  a 
frolic,  working  up  their  curiosity,  and  pledging  eternal 
secrecy  and  instant  departure  from  the  country,  that 
Miriam  had  persuaded  them  to  consent  to  send  for  me, 
and  they  secured  the  old  man’s  permission  on  the  ground 
of  the  universal  love  of  Greeks  for  Americans,  and  so  I 
was  sent  for  and  so  I  came. 

The  scene  in  the  room  when  I  entered  was  worthy  a 
painter’s  presence.  The  mother  of  the  family,  seated  on 
a  pile  of  cushions,  was  a  woman  of  splendid  beauty,  and 
her  daughters  were  like  their  mother.  Her  young  sister, 


36 


A  GREEK  MAIDEN. 


a  girl  of  twenty-two  or  three,  and  her  niece,  a  girl  of 
seventeen,  were  standing  near  her,  while  their  Nubian 
slaves,  slender  and  graceful  women,  black  as  night  but 
not  thick-lipped,  having  rather  the  features  of  the  Sliel- 
lalee  of  Egypt,  and  in  form  and  face  models  of  grace  and 
beauty,  waited  on  their  beautiful  mistresses.  A  troop  of 
children,  with  large  black  eyes,  dressed  like  fairies,  greeted 
my  entrance  with  a  shout  of  welcome,  and  for  a  moment 
I  hesitated  to  enter  a  place  sacred  not  only  by  oriental 
custom  against  such  a  visit,  but  sacred  especially  by  the 
presence  of  so  much  magnificent  beauty,  not  before  ex¬ 
posed  to  the  eye  of  a  stranger. 

But  the  unsurprised  look  of  Miriam  and  of  Mrs.  and 
Miss  Saunders  reassured  me,  and  I  advanced  with  as 
much  courage  as  could  be  expected  of  a  somewhat  diffi¬ 
dent  American  in  an  eastern  hareem. 

Often  since  then,  in  still  and  quiet  evenings,  when  I 
remember  the  incidents  of  my  eastern  travel,  the  face  of 
that  radiant  Greek  girl  comes  before  me  like  a  vision  of 
the  unreal  beauties  of  paradise. 

I  never  saw  a  woman  half  so  beautiful.  She  was  the 
first  and  last  one  that  I  saw  abroad  wdiom  I  thought 
equal  to  the  American  standard  of  female  beauty ;  and 
she  was  a  star. 

She  was  reclining  on  the  diwan,  half  buried  in  its 
cushions,  with  her  arm  around  Miriam’s  neck,  telling  her, 
in  all  the  rich  oriental  phrases  she  could  invent,  of  her  love 
for  her  newly-found  sister. 

I  will  endeavor,  for  the  sake  of  my  lady  readers,  and 
with  Miriam’s  assistance,  to  describe  her  dress,  which  was 
almost  a  fac-simile  of  the  dresses  of  four  other  ladies  in 
the  room,  whose  inferior  beauty  must  excuse  my  leaving 
them  to  sketch  their  splendid  companion. 

Firstly  she  wore  that  part  of  the  Turkish  lady’s  dress 
which  we  should  call  the  trowsers,  known  by  them  as  the 


THE  BEAUTY. 


3? 


shintiyan ,  and  a  very  different  affair  from  the  pantaloons 
which  the  American  ladies’-rights  ladies  argue  so  much  in 
favor  of.  They  are  necessarily  more  cumbersome  than 
the  ordinary  European  style  of  dress,  being  enormously 
heavy  folds  of  silk  stuff,  embroidered  with  heavy  gold 
thread,  gathered  at  the  ankles  with  gold  and  jeweled 
bands.  Those  of  which  I  now  speak  were  of  rose-colored 
silk,  and  the  little  feet  that  were  quite  hidden  in  the  folds 
as  they  fell  around  it  when  she  walked,  were  covered  with 
velvet  slippers,  embroidered  with  seed  pearls. 

The  yellak,  a  sort  of  open  dress  that  falls  in  a  long  train 
behind  and  is  fastened  only  at  the  waist,  falling  away  so 
as  to  leave  the  shintiyan  visible,  is  I  believe  not  worn  by 
unmarried  ladies,  but  she  had  a  similar  dress,  of  the  same 
rose-colored  silk,  richly  embroidered.  A  low  chemisette, 
with  embroidered  front  and  sleeves,  left  almost  the  entire 
bust  exposed ;  and  a  velvet  jacket,  heavy  with  gold 
thread  and  jewels,  completed  the  rich  and  gorgeous  cos¬ 
tume. 

But  the  dress,  although  of  the  most  costly  fabrics  of 
the  Damascus  looms,  was  as  nothing  compared  with  the 
jewels  that  flashed  from  her  wrists,  and  neck,  and  hair. 

Over  her  left  shoulder,  hanging  like  a  sash  down  to 
the  right  side  of  her  waist,  was  a  golden  girdle  or  band, 
made  of  broad  pieces  of  gold,  shaped  like  willow  leaves, 
and  fastened  together  at  the  sides.  The  belt  of  the  yel¬ 
lak  and  shintiyan,  which  is  ordinarily  a  cashmere  shawl 
(known  vulgarly  in  America  as  camels’  hair),  was  silk, 
gathered  at  the  side  with  a  star  of  brilliants.  On  her 
arms  were  jeweled  serpents ;  and  the  only  covering  of 
her  bosom,  which  was  exposed,  as  I  have  said,  consisted  of 
strings  of  pearls  that  lay  across  it,  each  string  shorter 
than  the  one  above  it,  and  whose  whiteness  was  rivaled 
by  the  neck  they  adorned. 

Her  hair  was  bound  together  under  a  small  cap  of 


38 


A  WITNESS. 

crimson  velvet,  that  rested  only  on  the  back  of  her  head, 
and  of  which  the  velvet  was  but  the  material  on  which 
were  clustered  as  many  pearls  and  diamonds  as,  I  remarked 
to  Miriam,  would  purchase  all  the  jewelry  that  the  most 
gorgeous  New  York  saloon  could  exhibit  in  a  crowded 
evening  assembly. 

I  have  described  the  lady’s  costume  as  literally  as  I 
can  for  the  benefit  of  my  lady  readers ;  but  I  thought 
little  of  her  costume  then,  when  I  was  looking  at  her 
splendid  beauty.  Miriam  was  in  ecstasy  herself,  and  would 
interrupt  her  caresses  constantly  by  turning  to  me  with 
the  demand,  “  Is  n’t  she  beautiful  ?” 

Her  hair  was  black  as  the  clouds  of  a  December  night, 
and  swept  away  from  a  fine  forehead,  in  heavy  tresses. 
Her  face  was  no  cold  Greek  countenance.  It  was  full  of 
life  and  passion ;  her  eyes  black,  and  flashing  with  fun ; 
the  red  blood  tingling  close  under  the  skin  through  her 
cheeks,  and  sometimes  flushing  her  forehead  with  an  ex¬ 
quisite  glow ;  her  lips  were  red  and  laughing ;  her  chin 
the  smallest  imaginable ;  and  her  form  slender,  yet  full 
and  graceful  as  the  forms  of  dream-land. 

I  know  that  I  am  liable  to  the  charge  of  exaggeration 
in  my  description  of  this  scene,  and  that  Whitely  and 
Moreright  will  assure  inquirers  after  my  truthfulness  that 
they  do  not  believe  a  word  of  it.  I  am  sorry  to  say  that 
my  otherwise  conscientious  friends  were  so  envious  of  my 
success  in  this  instance,  and  so  much  annoyed  at  my  fre¬ 
quent  reference  to  it  when  they  grew  eloquent  on  the 
subject  of  beauties  they  had  seen,  that  they  are  not  likely 
to  be  candid  witnesses.  I  am,  therefore,  glad  of  one 
friend  to  whom  I  may  appeal  for  my  accuracy. 

Miriam  had,  as  we  came  from  the  tents,  laughingly  as¬ 
serted  her  intention  of  procuring  me  admission  to  the 
hareem,  and  I  had  pledged  myself  to  one  of  the  gentle¬ 
men  that  if  I  entered  he  should  go  as  well. 


PERFUMED  NARGHILE  II  S. 


39 


Mr.  De  Leon’s  high  position  with  the  Greeks,  which  he 
earned  by  his  noble  conduct  when  they  were  threatened 
with  expulsion  from  Egypt,  made  his  name  a  sort  of 
household  word  with  them  in  all  parts  of  the  Levant ; 
and  having  broken  the  ice  by  allowing  my  presence, 
there  was  no  difficulty  in  procuring  the  assent  of  the 
ladies  to  admitting  one  whom  they  knew  so  well  to  be  a 
man  of  honor,  and  a  friend  to  their  countrymen. 

The  same  imp  of  darkness  was  dispatched  to  bring 
him  ;  and  when  he  came,  the  fun  of  the  whole  thing  was 
complete,  and  the  fair  prisoners,  as  romance  has  called 
them,  seemed  to  be  delighted  with  the  novelty  of  their 
company. 

The  old  man,  who  had  come  in,  entered  into  their  joy 
completely,  and  looked  on  with  smiling  face  for  a  few 
moments  before  he  returned  to  his  guests  in  the  other 
part  of  the  house.  He  left  us  to  a  rattling  conversation 
with  the  fair  ladies,  in  which  my  Arabic  was  amply  suffic¬ 
ient  for  my  purposes,  since  they  did  all  the  talking,  and  con¬ 
stantly  repeated  their  warnings  that  we  were  not  to  reveal 
in  Jaffa  the  fact  that  we  had  seen  their  countenances. 

Narghilelis,  on  which  they  placed  perfume-wood  from 
Mecca,  wTere  renewed  as  constantly  as  we  finished  them ; 
and  coffee  and  a  host  of  delicacies  were,  from  time  to 
time,  presented  by  the  slave-girls,  who  seemed  to  enter 
into  their  mistresses’  enjoyment  most  keenly. 

When  we  rose  to  go,  and  I  am  bound  to  admit  the 
hour  would  have  been  thought  late  even  in  America, 
they  would  scarcely  permit  Miriam  to  leave  them,  but 
again  and  again  embraced  her,  and  kissed  her  on  each 
cheek,  and  on  her  lips,  while  the  Nubians  would  seize 
her  at  the  same  instant  from  behind,  with  one  hand 
on  each  side,  and  give  her  a  sympathetic  squeeze  in  ac¬ 
cordance  with  each  kiss  of  their  fair  mistresses.  We  left 
her  with  them  while  we  stepped  back  into  the  room 


40 


THE  TENTS. 


among  the  men,  where  the  smoke  was  so  thick  that  I  do 
not  think  our  absence  had  been  noted. 

The  little  old  bishop  was  still  talking  about  the  pa¬ 
triarch,  the  wine  and  the  coffee  circulating  as  before ;  and 
in  a  few  moments  we  took  leave  of  our  kind  host  with 
sincere  respect  for  his  hospitality. 

He,  and  his  son,  and  the  entire  party,  not  excepting 
the  bishop,  rose  when  we  rose,  and  accompanied  us  to  the 
door,  and  then  to  the  street,  and  then  up  and  down  the 
narrow,  winding  streets  of  Jaffa;  nor  did  they  leave  us 
till  we  roused  the  sleepy  guard  at  the  gloomy  gateway, 
and  walked  out  into  the  glorious  moonlight,  that  fell  on 
the  walls  of  the  city  with  that  strange  effect  that  moon¬ 
light  has  on  ancient  piles  of  stone,  and  more  beautifully 
still  on  the  white  tents  that  stood  on  the  hill  above  the 
sea. 

The  tall  form  of  Ferrajj  stood  waiting  for  us  as  we  ap¬ 
proached  them.  A  picket  of  horses  had  been  estab¬ 
lished  near  us,  in  accordance  with  our  published  orders, 
that  we  wished  the  finest  horses  in  the  country  to  be 
brought  to  us  for  selection  the  next  morning.  A  deep 
and  regular  sound  from  the  kitchen  tent  indicated  that 
Hajji  Mohammed  had  done  with  the  labors  of  the  day, 
and  with  a  gay  good-night  we  sought  our  several  beds. 
How  gloriously,  how  deeply,  serenely  and  profoundly  we 
slept  that  first  night  of  our  tent  life,  on  the  sounding 
shore  of  the  classic  sea,  in  the  Holy  Land. 


/ 


THE  GOLDEN  GATE,  EXTERIOR  VIEW,  ON  MOUNT  MORIAH. 


3. 


1 1) e  f  o  (j  of  f  i] c  toi)oie  £ q  H fo . 

The  dasli  of  the  sea,  rolling  in  before  a  stiff  north¬ 
wester,  awoke  me  at  day-break,  and  I  ran  down  the 
bank  for  a  plunge  in  the  blue  and  white  surf  before  the 
sun  should  have  kissed  off  the  freshness  of  the  foam- 
beads.  The  gray  old  walls  of  the  city  came  out  in 
strong  lights  and  shades  as  the  dawn  advanced.  I 
strolled  along  the  trench  to  the  great  gate,  and  recalled 
wfith  some  degree  of  ease,  now  that  all  was  sombre  and 
silent,  that  brave  old  time  when  Richard  of  the  stout 
heart,  alone,  with  his  strong  arm,  put  to  flight  the  Sara¬ 
cen  hosts  before  the  walls  of  Jaffa. 

When  I  returned  to  the  tents,  Hajji  Mohammed  was 
kindling  his  charcoal  fire  for  breakfast,  and  the  scene 
around  them  was  busy  and  active. 

I  had  directed  horses  to  be  brought  for  our  inspection, 
the  selection  of  these  being  the  most  important  matter  in 
commencing  a  Syrian  tour.  They  had  assembled,  white, 
brown,  and  bay,  halt  and  lame,  sore-eyed  and  sore- 
backed,  the  sorriest-looking  drove  of  horses  that  Christian 
eyes  ever  rested  on.  There  was  one  blear-eyed  nag  that 
made  you  weep  for  sympathy  if  you  looked  into  his  face, 
so  overpowering  was  its  melancholy,  and  there  was 
another  that  did  not  touch  his  near  hind  foot  to  the 
ground  when  he  walked,  but  his  owner  could  not  per- 


42 


BREAKING  UP  THE  CAMP. 


ceive  that  he  was  in  the  slightest  degree  lame.  He  ad¬ 
mitted,  on  close  questioning,  that  the  animal  had  been 
lame  formerly,  but  he  assured  me  he  was  cured  of  it 
perfectly. 

For  our  party  we  should  need,  beside  the  horses  that 
we  rode  ourselves,  not  less  than  ten  or  fifteen  mules 
to  carry  the  baggage  and  tents,  and  it  soon  became  mani¬ 
fest  that  Jaffa  could  furnish  nothing  that  was  at  all  to 
our  purposes.  We  might  find  what  would  answer  as  far 
as  Jerusalem,  but  not  for  the  long  journey  we  had  in 
prospect.  There  was  not  one  in  this  crowd  that  I  would 
have  taken  for  a  gift,  and  telling  Abd-el-Atti  to  make 
what  arrangements  he  pleased  with  them,  but  no  further 
than  Jerusalem,  Whitely  and  myself  went  down  to  the 
beach  for  a  stroll,  and  came  up  in  fine  condition  for 
breakfast  and  the  road.  But  the  first  start  was  not  so 
easy  a  matter,  and  while  the  Arabs  wrangled  about  the 
prices  of  the  beasts,  we  walked  into  the  town  again,  and 
through  the  crowded  bazaar,  just  inside  the  gate,  where 
we  endeavored  to  find  something  to  purchase  as  a  memo¬ 
rial  of  Jaffa.  But  we  found  nothing,  and  were  obliged 
to  content  ourselves  with  the  flowers  that  Miriam  had 
gathered  on  our  camp  ground,  and  pressed  in  a  little 
flower-press,  which  was  her  last  gift  at  parting  from  Joe 
Willis. 

At  length  the  calvalcade  was  ready  The  tents  were 
struck,  the  camels  which  Abd-el-Atti  had  chosen,  in  pref¬ 
erence  to  the  sorry  mules  of  Jaffa,  for  our  baggage,  had 
departed,  and  where  a  few  moments  before  our  village 
had  been,  now  was  a  green  spot,  with  a  half  dozen  sad¬ 
dled  horses  waiting  their  riders.  They  had  not  long  to 
wait.  Looking  back  for  a  moment  over  the  blue  sea, 
somewhat  longingly  I  will  not  deny,  for  who  could  tell 
what  might  occur  before  we  should  see  its  waves  again, 
or  who  of  us  might  never  come  back  from  the  far  wander- 


PLAIN  OF  SHARON. 


43 


mgs,  to  Nineveh  and  Bagdad,  that  we  expected  to  go  on, 
we  sprang  into  our  saddles  and  went  off,  a  gay  cavalcade, 
at  a  rattling  canter,  through  the  winding  paths  between 
the  hedges  of  prickly  pear  and  the  orange  groves,  on  the 
road  to  Jerusalem. 

We  soon  emerged  from  the  gardens  that  surround  the 
city,  and  found  ourselves  on  the  broad  plain  of  Sharon, 
which  comes  down  from  the  north,  and  loses  itself  in  the 
desert  hills  near  Gaza.  Overtaking  the  camels,  who 
were  lounging  along  in  a  straggling  train,  we  passed 
them  and  pressed  on.  It  was  vain  to  look  for  roses  here. 
The  plain  was  under  cultivation,  but  no  bushes  of  any 
kind  grew  on  it.  The  crimson  anemone,  which  abounds 
throughout  the  East,  covered  the  ground  in  all  direc¬ 
tions,  while  here  and  there  large  tufts  of  the  leaves  of 
some  species  of  lily  gave  promise  of  future  flowers  not 
yet  in  bloom.  The  people  were  plowing  their  fields,  and 
in  more  than  a  dozen  instances  we  saw  an  ox  yoked  with 
a  donkey  before  the  plough.  Our  spirits  were  excellent. 
We  dashed  off  at  full  gallop  across  the  plain,  occasionally 
turning  out  of  the  road  to  ascend  a  knoll  and  get  a  dis¬ 
tant  view.  So  we  continued  on  until  we  saw  in  the  dis¬ 
tance  the  tower  and  village  of  Ramleh,  which  was  three 
hours  from  Jaffa.  Before  reaching  them,  however,  we 
again  left  the  level  plain,  and  found  ourselves  in  groves 
of  olives,  passing  through  hedges  of  prickly  pear,  high 
over  which  the  tower  was  visible. 

When  within  a  half  mile  of  the  village  we  made  a 
detour  across  a  ploughed  field  and  through  an  olive 
grove  to  the  foot  of  the  tower,  which  has  been  a  source  of 
much  speculation  to  antiquarians. 

This  lofty  and  commanding  structure  stands  in  the 
north-west  corner  of  a  large  space,  surrounded  with  walls 
on  its  four  sides,  under  which  we  found  subterranean 
vaults  of  substantial  structure,  the  whole  place  appearing 


44 


RAMLEH. 


much  like  a  fortified  khan  ;  an  idea  which  received  addi¬ 
tional  weight  from  the  fact  that  this  place  has  always 
been  on  the  great  caravan  route  between  Egypt  and 
Damascus.  Whatever  its  original  purposes,  it  is  manifest 
that  the  pious  Mussulmans  did  not  forget  their  religion  in 
its  construction,  and  the  conveniences  usually  found  in 
mosks  for  directing  the  prayers  of  the  faithful  toward 
Mecca. 

The  tower  itself  is  square,  of  Saracenic  architecture, 
gracefully  as  well  as  substantially  built.  A  winding  stair¬ 
case  within  it,  much  dilapidated  but  still  amply  secure  for 
our  ascent,  enabled  us  to  reach  the  ruined  battlements, 
high  up  above  the  plain  of  Ramleh,  where,  seated  on  the 
crumbling  and  almost  tottering  stones  of  the  wall,  we 
looked  out  for  a  half  hour  in  intense  delight  on  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  of  views.  The  hills  of  Ephraim  and  Judah 
bounded  the  view  on  the  east,  and  the  blue  Mediter¬ 
ranean  formed  the  horizon  below  which  the  sun  wrould 
soon  descend.  The  plain  of  Sharon,  beautiful  in  tradition 
and  holy  story,  lay  below  us,  and  around  us,  stretching 
far  away  northward  to  the  neighborhood  of  Ashdod,  and 
even  to  Gaza,  in  the  land  of  the  Philistines. 

Directly  at  our  feet  lay  the  village  of  Er-Ramleh  (the 
sand-bank),  a  name  for  which  I  in  vain  seek  a  derivation 
or  a  reason.  Other  travelers  have  stated  it,  in  general 
terms,  as  derived  from  the  sandy  soil ;  but  my  observa¬ 
tion  was  directly  the  reverse  of  this.  The  soil  was  less 
sandy  than  other  parts  of  the  plain.  Built  chiefly  of 
stone,  and  whitewashed,  as  are  all  the  principal  villages  of 
Syria,  its  domes  and  minarets  shone  cheerfully  in  the  rays 
of  the  evening  sun  among  groves  of  olive  and  dense 
thickets  of  the  prickly  pear,  while  here  and  there  a  stately 
palm  towered  above  the  surrounding  vegetation,  like  a 
relic  of  the  ancient  days,  sublime,  solemn,  and  exceedingly 
beautiful. 


CONSULAR  AGENTS. 


45 


The  scarcity  of  timber  of  all  kinds,  in  Syria,  has  led  to 
the  adoption  of  the  arch  for  supporting  stone  floors  and 
stone  roofs  throughout  the  country ;  and  hence  the  prev¬ 
alent  style  of  roof  is  that  which  consists  of  small  domes, 
built  entirely  of  stone,  of  which  one  covers  each  small 
room,  and  several  are  necessary  to  the  covering  of  one 
large  chamber.  Thus,  a  house  of  ordinary  size,  will  be 
roofed  over  with  six  or  eight  such  domes,  and  oftentimes 
with  many  more.  The  result  is,  that  a  village  or  city 
presents  an  aspect  to  a  stranger  totally  different  from  any 
thing  he  has  before  seen.  We  had,  of  course,  observed 
this  in  Jaffa,  but  it  was  now  especially  manifest  in  Ram- 
leh,  looking  down  on  it  as  we  did  from  the  high  tower. 

But  our  eyes  were  especially  attracted  to  a  sight  always 
welcome,  the  world  over,  namely,  the  American  flag 
floating  in  the  breeze,  and  lit  by  the  rays  of  the  declining 
sun,  over  the  domes  of  much  the  most  imposing-looking 
building  in  the  place,  not  even  excepting  the  Latin  con¬ 
vent.  That  this  was  the  residence  of  the  American  con¬ 
sular  agent  w^as  quite  manifest ;  but,  I  confess,  that  al¬ 
though  my  heart  beat  faster  when  I  saw  the  flag,  it  did 
not  warm  at  all  to  the  house  or  the  people  below. 

A  satisfactory  experience  in  the  East  convinces  me  that 
an  American  consular  agent — I  speak  of  such  agents  as  are 
now  found  in  various  parts  of  the  East — is  useful  but  for 
one  purpose  :  to  mislead  the  traveler,  and  absorb  a  cer¬ 
tain  portion  of  his  money.  This  is  the  fault  of  the  system. 
Natives  accept  the  office,  because  it  affords  them  full  and 
complete  protection  against  their  own  government.  No 
Turkish  official  dare  lay  his  hands  on  the  purse  or  the 
person  of  a  consular  agent  of  any  foreign  power.  Re¬ 
ceiving  no  pay  from  the  government  they  represent,  and 
being  really  of  no  earthly  use  to  travelers  or  any  one, 
they  manage  to  press  some  service  on  the  unlucky 
stranger  who  falls  into  their  hands,  for  which  they  ex- 


4G 


L  Y  D  D  A. 


tract  from  him  a  bucksheesh  in  proportion  to  the  national 
feeling  they  succeed  in  arousing  in  his  mind.  Long 
before  this  time  I  had  issued  strict  orders  to  Abd-el-Atti, 
that,  on  entering  any  place  that  was  honored  as  the 
residence  of  an  American  consular  agent,  he  should 
represent  me  as  a  Hindoo,  Japanese,  Sandwich  Islander, 
or  any  thing  but  an  American,  if  so  be  I  might  be  saved 
from  the  annoying  demands  on  my  purse,  and  still  more 
annoying  attentions. 

Therefore,  as  I  said,  the  American  flag  did  not  lead  me 
to  desire  shelter  under  its  protection,  but,  rather  the 
reverse,  made  me  fear  the  usual  demand  on  my  temper 
and  charity. 

But  the  view  of  the  plain  of  Sharon  was  still  before 
us,  and  we  could  not,  without  pain,  tear  ourselves  away 
from  it. 

About  five  miles  to  the  north  of  us  lay  a  little  village, 
which  we  learned  was  known  among  the  natives  as  Lucid , 
and  which  there  is  no  reason  to  doubt  is  the  ancient  Lydda. 
At  present  it  is  remarkable  only  as  containing  the  ruins 
of  one  of  the  grand  churches  of  old  times,  that  of  St. 
George,  the  saint  of  merrie  England  and  of  stories  in¬ 
numerable,  whose  birth-place  and  burial-place  were  at 
Lydda,  where,  in  times  unknown,  they  built  a  shrine,  and 
burned  incense  over  his  dust,  and  where,  in  later  years, 
the  shrine  had  fallen  into  decay,  and  a  Moslem  minaret 
was  built  in  the  blue  air,  which  was  now  the  chief  object 
visible  from  the  tower  at  Ramleh.  As  the  sun  declined 
yet  more,  our  eyes  followed  his  rays,  and  we  looked 
eagerly  and  longingly  to  the  hills  of  Ephraim.  Right 
there  away,  where  the  path  left  the  plain  and  entered 
the  mountain  gorge,  was  the  road  to  Jerusalem,  and 
thither  our  hearts  went  forth  most  earnestly.  It  was 
hard  to  wait  for  the  morning,  to  continue  on,  and  even 
Miriam,  wearied  and  tired  with  the  first  day’s  travel, 


MONKS  OF  HOLY  LAND. 


47 


volunteered  to  go  on  that  night,  and  see  the  sun  rise  over 
Olivet. 

But  this  was  impossible,  for  various  reasons,  and  at 
length,  reluctantly  closing  our  eyes  on  the  view  that  had 
so  long  kept  us  on  this  high  point,  we  descended  the 
steps,  and  mounting  our  horses  in  the  court  or  inclosure, 
rode  out  on  the  east  side  among  the  tombs  of  the  Mo¬ 
hammedans. 

A  solitary  Latin  monk  from  the  convent,  walking  near 
the  tower  and  musing  in  the  evening  light,  directed  us 
in  the  shortest  path.  We  rode  down  a  gentle  slope 
between  dense  hedges  of  the  prickly  pear  and  stopped  at 
the  door  of  the  Latin  convent  where  we  had  directed 
Abd-el-Atti  to  arrange  our  beds  for  the  night. 

Throughout  Holy  Land  the  convents  are  open  to  the 
reception  of  guests,  and  the  hospitality  of  the  monks  of 
all  denominations  deserves  everlasting  record.  I  have 
heard  and  read  remarks  on  the  subject  of  this  hospitality 
which  many  travelers  have  ascribed  to  love  of  the  money 
which  all  leave  in  payment  for  their  lodging.  But  I  bear 
my  testimony  most  cheerfully  to  the  courtesy  and  kind¬ 
ness  of  the  monks  of  the  Holy  Land.  I  found  the  Latin 
monks  everywhere  noble  men,  full  of  good  works  and 
humble  piety.  Nor  had  I  ever  occasion  to  think  their 
kindness  to  me,  often  as  I  experienced  it,  proceeded  from 
any  other  motive  other  than  their  pure  good-will  and  ac¬ 
customed  benevolence.  I  paid  liberally,  it  is  true,  but  not 
till  I  was  leaving  them,  and  it  was  then  a  pure  gratuity, 
which  was  never  asked  for.  I  have  no  doubt  that  my 
money,  with  that  of  all  other  pilgrims  who  were  able  to 
pay,  went  to  the  sustenance  of  poorer  pilgrims  who  were 
fainting  on  their  march  to  the  Sepulchre. 

The  convents  are  provided  with  vacant  rooms,  and 
many  of  them  with  beds  and  bedding.  They  are  gen¬ 
erally  kept  scrupulously  clean,  and  the  Latin  convents  are 


48 


HOUSE  OF  MARCUS. 


always  so.  This  at  Ramleh  was  positively  inviting  in  its 
cool  clean  court-yard  and  white-washed  cells.  I  envied 
the  monks  that  were  walking  up  and  down  in  its  old 
shades. 

We  rapped  on  the  gate  with  our  wrhip-handles.  The 
door  opened,  but  our  party  were  not  here,  and  we  learned 
that  they  had  gone  on  to  the  house  of  Matta  Abud  Mar¬ 
cus,  the  American  agent,  where  we  had  seen  the  Ameri¬ 
can  flag  flying. 

W e  rode  on  and  found  them  there,  already  in  possession 
of  Marcus’s  upper  chambers. 

All  the  houses  in  Palestine  are  built  on  the  same  gen¬ 
eral  plan,  and  doubtless  on  the  ancient  plan.  The  build¬ 
ing  surrounds  a  court.  The  ground  floor  rooms  are  used 
for  kitchens,  stables,  and  general  offices.  A  stairway  in 
the  open  air  leads  to  a  terrace,  or  a  broad  platform,  which 
is,  perhaps,  the  ancient  “  house-top”  of  which  we  read  so 
often,  and  around  which  the  various  rooms  of  the  family 
open. 

Above  the  terrace  on  the  house  of  Marcus,  the  flag  was 
floating.  We  entered  a  large  room,  thirty  feet  square, 
and  surrounded  with  diwans,  and  sat  down  to  chibouks 
and  coffee.  Our  host,  as  American  agent,  claimed  the 
privilege  of  receiving  us  as  his  guests,  and  had  brought 
the  party  there,  having  gone  out  of  the  village  to  meet 
them.  We  yielded  with  proper  grace,  though  I  confess 
my  heart  yearned  for  the  clean,  cool  rooms  of  the  con¬ 
vent,  and  there  was  not  as  much  promise  of  dinner  here 
as  would  have  been  if  Hajji  Mohammed  were  commander 
in  the  kitchen.  But  to  the  credit  of  our  host  be  it  said, 
he  did  every  thing  possible  to  make  us  feel  at  home,  and 
we  soon  accommodated  ourselves  to  the  quarters  in  which 
we  found  ourselves. 

The  view  from  the  terrace  was  exceedingly  beautiful 
when  the  sun  went  down.  We  gathered  here  to  enjoy 


NIGHT  AND  FLEAS. 


49 


it.  The  flag  was  taken  down,  and  as  it  lay  on  the  pave¬ 
ment  we  found  on  it  this  inscription  : 

“  Presented  to  Ahbout  Montas,  Esq.,  U.  S.  Vice  Consul  at  Ramleh, 
by  the  officers  of  the  U.  S.  squadron  off  Jaffa,  as  a  slight  return  for  his 
attention  shown  them  on  their  going  and  returning  from  Jerusalem, 
September  25th,  1836. 

Abud  Marcus,  whose  name  was  here  written  Montas, 
was  the  father  of  our  present  host,  and  the  flag  had 
been  well  preserved,  being  exhibited  only  when  Amer¬ 
icans  were  in  the  neighborhood. 

I  had  one  of  the  bedsteads  unpacked  for  Miriam’s  bed, 
to  be  made  up  in  one  of  the  small  rooms,  and  I  threw 
myself  down  on  my  carpet  in  the  corner.  The  other 
gentlemen  occupied  diwans  in  the  large  rooms,  with  blan¬ 
kets  and  quilts.  I  fought  the  fleas  all  night  and  caught 
some  interrupted  moments  of  sleep,  but  for  the  most  part 
had  a  wretched  night  of  it.  Mark’s  intentions  were  good 
enough,  but  his  hospitality  was  rather  a  failure. 

Long  before  the  morning  came  over  the  eastern  hills  I 
had  left  my  uncomfortable  bed  to  the  fleas  that  enjoyed 
it  apparently  better  than  I,  and  throwing  open  the  wooden 
shutter  of  the  eastern  window,  which  like  all  the  others 
in  the  house  was  destitute  of  glass,  sat  in  the  cool  soft  air 
and  gazed  at  the  morning-star  which,  more  brilliant  than 
ever  before  to  my  eyes,  hung  in  the  east  above  Jerusalem. 
As  the  dawn  came  I  heard  a  commotion  in  the  other 
room,  and  Whitely’s  voice  in  phrases  that  left  no  doubt 
whatever  in  my  mind  that  there  were  fleas  in  other  rooms 
as  well  as  in  mine.  In  a  few  moments  we  were  all  gath¬ 
ered  on  the  terrace  from  which  our  various  rooms  opened, 
and  the  cool  air  and  soft  light  of  the  setting  moon 
revived  us  more  than  had  our  troubled  sleep. 

And  now  a  tremendous  row  in  the  lower  apartments, 
in  which  I  recognized  Abd-el-Atti’s  voice  above  all  others, 


50 


A  CURIOUS  COINCIDENCE. 


indicated  that  something  was  out  of  order  there,  and  that 
I  should  very  soon  have  a  difficulty  of  some  hind  to  adjust 
among  my  interesting  family  of  Arabs.  The  voice  soon 
approached  the  stairway,  and  at  length  the  Egyptian  came 
up  in  a  small  tempest. 

Abud  Marcus  had  taken  us  in  the  night  before,  and  the 
dragoman  insisted  that  he  had  done  it  in  both  senses.  He 
had  promised  most  faithfully  to  see  that  all  our  camels 
and  horses  were  cared  for  for  the  night,  and  trusting  it  to 
him  we  had  given  them  no  attention.  This  morning  five 
of  the  camels  were  missing,  with  their  drivers,  and  the 
only  answer  that  he  could  obtain  to  his  inquiries  about 
them  was  that,  being  left  in  the  street  over  night  they  had 
deserted  us,  a  course  not  unlikely,  since  they  had  been 
paid  in  advance  for  the  previous  day’s  work  and  a  part 
of  to-day’s.  But  a  more  diligent  inquiry  satisfied  Abd-el- 
Atti  that  Marcus  had  discharged  them  himself,  telling 
them  that  they  were  not  wanted  any  longer  and  might  go 
about  their  business. 

It  was,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  very  remarkable,  that  on 
my  exhibiting  some  dissatisfaction  on  the  subject,  Marcus 
declared  that  he  was  possessed  of  just  five  camels,  which 
were  ready  at  the  door,  and  which  were  at  my  service 
without  fee  or  reward,  and  whose  acceptance  he  urged 
on  us  with  all  the  eagerness  of  an  oriental  offering  a 
service  for  which  he  is  well  assured  the  traveler  will  repay 
him  more  than  it  is  worth. 

This  incident  decidedly  diminished  the  cordiality  of 
our  parting  with  our  host,  and  getting  into  the  saddle 
with  no  little  impatience  we  rode  through  the  dirty  bazaar 
of  Ramleh,  and  out  at  the  eastern  side  of  the  village, 
where  we  struck  into  a  gallop  for  a  few  moments,  hoping 
thereby  to  get  up  our  spirits  and  good  temper  before  sun¬ 
rise,  a  hope  that  was  effectually  dashed  by  observing  the 
addition  of  a  person  to  our  party  who  proved  to  be  the 


E  M  M  A  U  S  . 


51 


cawass  of  the  American  consulate,  to  wit  of  Abud  Marcus, 
who  accompanied  us  in  full  nizam  uniform,  with  jing¬ 
ling  sabre,  until  he  had  extracted  as  many  dollars  from  the 
various  gentlemen  as  he  could  persuade  them  were  due  to 
the  dignity  of  the  official  he  represented,  and  which,  in 
addition  to  the  gold  we  had  given  to  Marcus  himself 
“  for  the  servants,”  made  the  night’s  entertainment  cost 
us  somewhat  more  than  it  would  at  Morley’s  in  London, 
and  then,  to  our  infinite  relief,  left  us  to  pursue  our  way 
toward  Jerusalem,  attended  by  the  American  agent  in 
Jerusalem,  a  brother  of  Mr.  Murad  of  Jaffa,  to  whose 
tender  mercies  I  warned  Abd-el-Atti  in  no  case  to  subject 
me  in  the  Holy  City. 

As  the  morning  advanced  we  continued  to  cross  the 
plain  of  Sharon,  but  at  length  entered  the  wide  pass  of 
the  mountains  of  Ephraim,  up  which  the  road  ascends,  and 
which  introduced  us  for  the  first  time  to  Syrian  horse 
paths.  Of  these  we  had  enough  before  many  days  were 
over. 

Before  entering  the  gorge  of  the  hills,  we  passed,  at 
about  three  hours  from  It  ami  eh  a  village  on  the  top  of  a 
hill  at  the  right  of  the  path,  looking  more  indeed  like  a 
ruin  than  a  village,  which  is  known  by  the  Arabs  as 
Latrone,  a  name  evidently  given  by  the  Latin  monks,  who 
have  long  designated  it  as  the  birth-place  of  the  penitent 
thief.  We  remarked  nothing  here  so  much  as  the  ex¬ 
quisite  blossoms  of  the  white  and  purple  cyclamen  among 
the  rocks  at  our  roadside,  which  we  afterward  found  in 
great  quantities  throughout  Syria. 

Latrone  has  been  sometimes  called  Emmaus,  and  was 
indeed  the  castle  of  Emmaus,  which  latter  place  we  now 
saw  on  our  left  a  little  way  from  the  road. 

It  is  a  small  mud  village,  with  nothing  to  mark  the  deep 
interest  with  which  all  Christians  regard  it.  It  is  now 
called  Emmouse. 


52 


VALLEY  OF  AJALON. 


The  difficulty  which  others  have -found  in  admitting  this 
locality  consists  in  its  great  distance  from  Jerusalem.  Eu¬ 
sebius  and  Jerome  in  the  fourth  century  had  no  difficulty 
in  fixing  on  this  site,  and  the  tradition  of  the  church  has 
been  unbroken  and  invariable  since. 

The  opinion  seems  to  have  great  force  that  there  is  an 
omission  in  the  text  of  Luke  who  (Luke,  xxiv.  13)  de¬ 
scribes  Emmaus  as  threescore  furlongs  from  Jerusalem. 
Some  of  the  manuscripts  read  u  one  hundred  and  three¬ 
score,”  which  is  about  the  distance  of  the  site  we  are  now 
speaking  of. 

(Since  I  wrote  this  chapter,  Dr.  Robinson’s  last  volume 
has  been  published.  With  his  accustomed  learning  and 
ability  he  reviews  the  various  authorities  and  arrives  at 
the  conclusion,  that  the  Emmaus  of  Luke  and  the  Em- 
mouse  of  this  day  are  identical.  His  reasoning  is  such  that 
no  one  can  hesitate  to  consider  his  opinion  satisfactory.) 

After  we  had  passed  Emmouse,  and  ascended  and  de¬ 
scended,  climbed  rocks  and  stumbled  down  precipices,  we 
found  ourselves  in  the  valley  of  Ajalon,  at  a  little  distance 
from  Yolo ,  which  retains  thus  much  of  the  ancient  name. 

I  was  impressed  here  with  an  idea  which  had  frequently 
before  occurred  to  me,  that  there  is  a  certain  inconsistency 
in  the  account  of  the  miracle  of  Joshua  performed  over 
this  valley.  The  direction  to  the  sun,  “  Stand  thou  still 
on  Gibeon,”  would  imply  that  the  sun  was  to  the  east¬ 
ward  of  him,  for  Gibeon  was  far  to  the  east.  But  the 
time  was  afternoon,  if  we  may  judge  from  the  account  of 
the  battle.  I  believe  it  has  been  suggested  that  the  ac¬ 
count  of  this  miracle  is  an  interpolation  in  the  text,  and 
a  careful  reading  of  it,  I  think,  indicates  that  it  has  not 
the  same  authorship  with  what  precedes  and  follows  it. 

Of  the  perils  of  that  road,  I  can  not  sufficiently  speak. 
I  had  done  some  rough  traveling  on  foot  and  in  the  sad¬ 
dle,  but  I  never  had  seen  the  parallel  of  this.  The  path, 


PILGRIMS  AT  LAST. 


53 


if  so  it  may  be  called,  lay  for  many  miles  up  the  dry  bed 
of  a  mountain  torrent,  filled  with  round  stone  and  rugged 
rocks,  so  that  it  may  be  stated  as  almost  literally  true, 
that  from  the  plain  of  Sharon  to  the  gates  of  Jerusalem, 
our  horses’  feet  were  never  on  the  soil,  and  seldom  on 
firm,  solid  rock.  Whitely’s  horse  had  one  bad  fall,  and 
I  avoided  the  same  fate  by  walking  over  the  place  where 
he  fell.  I  kept  an  Arab  on  each  side  of  Miriam  to  catch 
her  in  case  her  horse  lost  his  footing,  and  we  thus  had  our 
initiation  in  Syrian  roads.  At  one  point  we  descended  a 
rocky  hill  some  three  hundred  feet  on  the  broken  rock, 
the  horses  often  going  down  steps  which  no  American 
horse  would  have  ventured  on,  and  which  were  not  a 
little  trying  to  American  nerves. 

We  halted  for  luncheon  at  a  beautiful  spot  on  a  hill¬ 
side,  near  a  well  in  a  grove  of  olives  on  a  bank  covered 
with  wild-flowers. 

Pleasantest  of  all  recollections  of  our  journey ings  along 
the  way,  are  those  halts  that  we  always  made  at  noonday 
for  luncheon,  when  we  lay  down  on  the  grass  by  the  side 
of  a  well,  or  sat  under  the  shadow  of  a  great  rock,  or  se¬ 
lected  the  highest  point  of  a  liill-road,  whence,  reclining 
for  an  hour  to  rest  our  weary  limbs,  we  could  look  off 
over  vast  expanses  of  the  holy  soil. 

“  Bucksheesh,  O  Hajji !”  shouted  a  group  of  boys  on 
the  top  of  the  next  hill.  Yea,  verily  we  had  arrived  at 
that  dignity,  and  were  pilgrims.  I  straightened  myself 
in  my  saddle  as  I  felt  this  new  title. 

I  regret  that  the  loss  of  my  notes  of  this  day’s  journey 
forbids  my  locating  places  accurately  here,  and  obliges 
me  also  to  pass  by  without  notice  a  number  of  cisterns 
and  wells  which  I  examined  in  the  valleys,  and  among 
others  a  large  cistern  known  by  the  Arabs  as  the  well  of 
Ayub,  a  name  that  I  found  at  several  other  places  in  Syria, 
and  which  is  as  likely  to  have  been  derived  from  some 


54 


VALLEY  OF  ELAH. 


modern  sheik,  or  possibly  the  great  head  of  the  Ayubites, 
as  from  the  ancient  Joab,  or  more  ancient  Job. 

As  we  approached  Kuriet-el-Enab,  a  substantial  stone 
village,  renowned  as  the  residence  of  Abu  Goash,  the 
former  collector  of  tribute  from  travelers  on  this  route, 
and  the  terror  of  Jerusalem  and  its  neighborhood,  we  saw 
a  fine,  large  church,  of  ancient  Christian  times,  standing 
just  out  of  the  village,  and  turning  aside  from  our  road, 
which  went  along  the  north  side  of  the  wady,  we  rode 
directly  into  its  doorway,  and  sat  on  horseback  in  the 
very  aisle  of  the  building.  It  was  a  grand  old  place  of 
Christian  worship,  with  crypts  under  it,  which  we  exam¬ 
ined  afterward,  and  although  windows  and  doors  were 
gone,  and  cattle  occupied  it  in  place  of  Christian  worship¬ 
ers,  yet  on  the  walls  were  the  images  of  saints,  and  the 
memory  of  the  prayers  of  saints  lingered  in  its  lofty 
arches,  and  impressed  us  solemnly  us  we  came  from  it. 
Some  one  told  us  that  this  was  the  birth-place  of  the 
prophet  Jeremiah.  It  was  formerly  the  seat  of  a  Latin 
convent  in  connection  with  the  church  whose  deserted 
walls  we  invaded. 

We  paused  a  little  while  again  in  the  valley  of  Elah, 
and  gathered  a  few  pebbles  in  the  dry  bed  of  the  brook 
where  David  found  his  weapons  with  which  to  meet  the 
giant  of  the  Philistines,  and  then,  every  thing  that  wras 
behind  and  around  us  faded  in  interest  as  we  began  to 
realize  that  from  the  summit  of  the  hill  before  us  our 
weary  eyes  would  rest  on  the  walls  of  Jerusalem. 

We  pressed  our  horses  rapidly  up  the  steep  hill,  by  a 
zig-zag  path,  which  in  our  haste  we  sometimes  cut  across, 
and  thereby  nearly  broke  our  own  and  our  horses’  necks  in 
several  instances.  There  was  a  party  of  Latin  nuns,  on 
sleek  and  beautiful  horses,  riding  slowly  before  us.  We 
passed  them  at  a  rattling  gallop,  and  hastened  on,  up  the 
rough  path,  now  over  masses  of  loose,  rolling  stones,  on 


DEUS  SULT! 


55 


which  our  horses  could  with  difficulty  find  footing  for  a 
half  mile,  and  as  a  cold  wind  swept  over  the  bleak  and 
desolate  hills,  wrapped  our  cloaks  around  us  and  drew  our 
hoods  closely  over  our  faces.  The  appearance  of  every 
thing  was  desolate  in  the  extreme.  For  many  miles,  we 
had  seen  no  evidences  of  human  existence.  Wild  rocks 
were  everywhere,  ragged  and  fierce  in  their  utter  bar¬ 
renness,  and  hill  and  valley  were  alike  apparently  cursed 
with  the  curse  of  God. 

At  length  there  was  a  short  space  where  the  road  ad¬ 
mitted  of  a  gallop,  our  horses  plunging  over  the  stones 
and  finding  footing  as  none  but  Syrian  horses  could,  and 

here  S - ,  and  Wliitely,  and  myself  pressed  forward,  as 

swiftly  as  the  zig-zag  path,  winding  around  rocks,  and 
turning  short  to  the  right  or  to  the  left,  or  often  even  in 
an  acute  angle  backward,  would  permit.  Reaching  the 
summit  of  the  ascent,  we  beheld  a  distant  view  of  deso¬ 
late  mountains,  lit  in  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun,  with 
dark,  wild  gorges  between  them,  all  tending  downward 
to  a  deep  valley,  wherein  we  knew  must  lie  the  Dead  Sea. 
But  we  could  not  yet  see  the  city  of  our  desires. 

A  few  steps  forward,  our  worn-out  horses  stumbling 
rather  than  galloping  over  the  rocky  path,  and  a  hill, 
crowned  with  a  mosk  and  minaret,  was  before  us  in  the 
distance,  which  my  heart  knew  by  instinct  was  the  mount¬ 
ain  of  the  Ascension.  I  raised  myself  in  my  stirrups  and, 
turning  to  Miriam,  shouted,'  “  The  Mount  of  Olives !”  and 
waved  my  hand  toward  it — and  then,  as  I  looked  again, 
before  me,  in  all  their  glory  and  majesty,  I  beheld,  mag¬ 
nificent  in  the  light  of  the  setting  sun,  the  walls  of  Jeru¬ 
salem. 

I  had  thought  of  that  moment  for  years,  in  waking  and 
in  sleeping  dreams.  I  had  asked  myself  a  hundred  times, 
“  What  will  you  do  when  your  weary  eyes  rest  on  these 
holy  walls  ?”  Sometimes  I  thought  I  should  cry  out 


56 


JERUSALEM. 


aloud  as  did  pilgrims  of  old  times,  and  sometimes  that  I 
should  kneel  down  on  the  road  as  did  the  valiant  men  who 
marched  with  Godfrey  and  with  Richard.  But  I  did  neither. 

My  horse  stopped  in  the  road,  as  if  he  knew  that  all 
our  haste  had  been  for  this,  and  I  murmured  to  myself, 
“  Deus  vult,”  and  my  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  through 
them  I  gazed  at  the  battlements  and  the  towers  and  min¬ 
arets  of  the  city.  One  by  one  the  party  rode  up,  and 
each  in  succession  paused. 

There  were  our  Mohammedan  servants,  a  Latin  monk 
who  had  joined  us  a  little  way  back,  two  Armenians,  and 
a  Jew  in  our  cortege,  beside  ourselves,  who  were  Prot- 
tesants — and  all  alike  gazed  with  overflowing  eyes  on 
that  spot,  toward  which  the  longing  hearts  of  so  many 
millions  of  the  human  race  turn  daily  with  devout  affec¬ 
tion.  We  spoke  no  word  aloud.  One  rushing  wave  of 
thought  swept  over  all  our  souls. 

I  stood  in  the  road,  my  hand  on  my  horse’s  neck,  and 
with  my  dim  eyes  sought  to  trace  the  outlines  of  the  holy 
places  which  I  had  long  before  fixed  in  my  mind,  but  the 
fast  flowing  tears  forbade  my  succeeding.  The  more  I 
gazed,  the  more  I  could  not  see  ;  and  at  length,  gather¬ 
ing  close  around  my  face  the  folds  of  my  coufea,  I  sprang 
into  the  saddle,  and  led  the  advance  toward  the  gates  of 
the  city. 

As  we  approached  the  northernmost  corner  of  the  wall 
we  met  a  sallying  party  of  Jerusalem  hotel-keepers,  who 
were  as  vociferous  in  their  recommendations  of  their  va¬ 
rious  inns  as  New  York  cab-drivers. 

W e  had  sent  Abd-el-Atti  forward  to  secure  a  place 
where  we  should  find  clean  and  comfortable  rooms,  in  the 
convent  of  the  Terra  Santa,  or  in  the  Armenian  Convent, 
to  the  bishop  of  which  church  I  had  recommendatory  let¬ 
ters — or,  which  I  preferred,  by  finding  a  new  and  unoc¬ 
cupied  house  in  the  city. 


OUR  HIRED  HOUSE. 


57 


He  succeeded  to  admiration,  and  finding  a  neat,  clean 
house  with  plenty  of  rooms,  which  Antonio  Zammit  had 
rebuilt,  and  was  just  opening  under  the  imposing  title  of 
“  English  Hotel,”  he  contracted  with  Antonio  to  give 
us  the  entire  establishment,  and  install  Hajji  Mohammed 
in  the  kitchen,  so  long  as  we  should  remain  in  Jerusalem. 

Before  reaching  the  corner  of  the  city  wall  we  turned 
to  the  left,  and  instead  of  entering  the  Jaffa  gate,  passed 
under  the  north  wall  to  the  Damascus  gate,  whose  ancient 
and  gloomy  arch  stood  open  to  receive  us. 

The  house  of  Antonio  was  on  the  Via  Dolorosa,  a  few 
jiaces  from  the  house  of  Dives  and  the  house  of  Lazarus, 
next  door  but  one  to  the  house  of  Veronica,  and  not  very 
far  distant  from  the  Arch  of  Judgment.  Dismounting 
at  the  doorway,  we  entered  most  willingly,  for  we  were 
by  this  time  well-nigh  exhausted,  and  our  limbs  were  glad 
in  every  inch  of  them  to  find  repose. 

3* 


if. 

&  e  f  i]  §  6  hi  q  n  c  ■ 


The  first  morning  in  Jerusalem  was  a  time  forever  to 
be  remembered.  When  the  sun  came  up  above  the 
Mount  of  Olives,  I  was  standing,  on  the  eastern  side  of 
the  city,  without  the  walls,  on  the  brow  of  the  valley  of 
Jehoshaphat,  looking  down  into  its  gloomy  depths  and  up 
to  the  hill  that  was  hallowed  by  the  last  footsteps  of 
Christ. 

I  could  not  sleep.  It  was  vain  to  think  of  it  or  attempt 
it.  Broken  snatches  of  slumber,  dreamy  and  restless  at 
the  best,  but  mostly  broad  awake  thoughts,  fancies,  feel¬ 
ings,  and  memories  occupied  the  entire  night.  Weary 
and  exhausted  as  I  was  by  the  previous  day’s  travel,  I 
could  not  compose  my  mind  sufficiently  to  take  the  rest 
I  actually  required. 

It  was  but  a  little  after  the  break  of  day  that  I  strolled 
down  to  the  gate  of  St.  Stephen  (so  called  now,  though 
formerly  known  as  the  gate  of  the  Lady  Mary,  because 
of  its  leading  to  the  Virgin’s  tomb),  and  finding  it  open 
already,  passed  out  among  the  Moslem  graves  that  cover 
the  hill  of  Moriah,  outside  the  walls,  and  sitting  down  on 
one  of  them,  waited  in  silence  the  coming  of  the  sun. 
And  it  came. 

I  had  seen  the  dawn  come  over  the  forest  of  the  Dela¬ 
ware  country,  in  the  sublime  winter  mornings 


SUNRISE  OVER  OLIVET. 


59 


“  "When  last  night’s  snow  hangs  lightly  on  the  trees, 

And  all  the  cedars  and  the  pines  are  white 
With  the  new  glory.” 

I  had  seen  the  morning  come  up  over  the  prairies  of 
Minnesota,  calm  and  majestic  along  the  far  horizon.  I 
had  seen  it  in  golden  glory  on  the  sea,  in  soft  splendor  in 
Italy,  in  rich  effulgence  over  the  Libyan  desert. 

But  I  never  saw  such  a  morning  as  that  before  nor  shall 
I  ever  see  another  such  in  this  cold  world. 

At  first  there  was  a  Hush,  a  faint  but  beautiful  light  like 
a  halo,  above  the  holy  mountain.  Bight  there-away  lay 
Bethany,  and  I  could  think  it  the  radiance  of  the  bursting 
tomb  of  Martha’s  brother.  But  the  flush  became  a  gleam, 
a  glow,  an  opening  heaven  of  deep,  strong  light  that  did 
not  dazzle  nor  bewilder.  I  looked  into  it  and  was  lost  in 
it,  as  one  is  lost  that  gazes  into  the  deep  loving  eyes  of  the 
woman  he  worships.  It  seemed  as  if  I  had  but  to  wish 
and  I  should  be  away  in  the  atmosphere  that  was  so  glor¬ 
ious.  Strong  cords  of  desire  seemed  drawing  me  thither. 
I  even  rose  to  my  feet  and  leaned  forward  over  the  carved 
turban  on  a  Mussulman’s  tomb.  I  breathed  strong,  full 
inspirations  as  if  I  could  breathe  in  that  glory. 

All  this  while,  deep  in  the  gloom  of  the  valley  between 
me  and  the  Mount  of  Ascension  lay  the  Hebrew  dead  of 
all  the  centuries,  quiet,  calm,  solemn  in  their  slumber. 
The  glory  did  not  reach  down  to  their  low  graves  ;  yet  I 
thought  almost  aloud,  that  if  that  radiance  could  but  once 
touch  those  stones,  heavy  as  they  were,  the  dead  would 
spring  to  life,  even  the  doubly  dead  who  lie  in  that  valley 
of  tombs. 

Alas  for  the  dead  whose  grave  the  morning  radiance 
from  the  mountain  of  the  Lord’s  ascension  will  never 
reach  !  Alas  for  the  sealed  lips  of  earth  that  will  never 
be  kissed  to  opening  by  those  rays  ! 

Then  came  the  round  sun ;  it  seemed  but  an  instant 


60 


TOMB  OF  MARY. 


after  the  morning-star  had  sunk  into  the  blue,  and  then 
the  full  sunlight  poured  across  the  hills  of  Judea,  on  the 
battlements  of  J erusalem. 

Then  once  more  I  bowed  my  head.  It  is  no  shame  to 
have  wept  in  Palestine.  I  wept  when  I  saw  Jerusalem, 
I  wept  when  I  lay  in  the  starlight  at  Bethlehem,  I  wept 
on  the  blessed  shores  of  Galilee.  My  hand  was  no  less 
firm  on  the  rein,  my  finger  did  not  tremble  on  the  trig¬ 
ger  of  my  pistol  when  I  rode  with  it  in  my  right  hand 
along  the  shore  of  the  blue  sea.  My  eye  was  not  dimmed 
by  those  tears,  nor  my  heart  in  aught  weakened.  Let 
him  who  would  sneer  at  my  emotion  close  this  volume 
here,  for  he  will  find  little  to  his  taste  in  my  journeyings 
through  Holy  Land. 

Miriam  and  Whitely  followed  me  when  the  morning  was 
a  little  more  advanced,  and  found  me,  as  we  had  appointed. 
We  descended  the  hill  by  the  path  which  leads  from  the 
gate  of  St.  Stephen  to  the  bottom  of  the  valley,  and  cross¬ 
ing  the  bed  of  the  brook  Kedron  ascends  the  Mount  of 
Olives  by  the  side  of  the  garden  of  Gethsemane. 

The  reader  can  not  need  to  be  told  that  there  are  no 
carriage-ways  and  no  wheeled-vehicles  in  Syria.  The 
roads  are  but  paths,  therefore,  and  the  descent  of  the  hills 
on  both  sides  of  the  valley  of  Jehoshaphat  would  be  much 
too  steep  for  carriages  if  there  were  any  in  the  city. 

The  brook  Kedron  exists  only  in  rainy  weather.  It 
was  dry  during  all  the  time  of  my  visit  to  Jerusalem, 
though  there  was  abundant  evidence  in  its  bed  of  the 
rapidity  of  the  torrent  in  rainy  seasons.  Crossing  the 
brook  we  found  ourselves  at  the  entrance  of  the  tradition¬ 
ary  tomb  of  the  Virgin  Mary. 

This  is  a  subterranean  chapel,  the  door  of  which  opens 
in  a  sunken  court,  perhaps  sixty  feet  square.  In  heavy 
rains  the  court  is  apt  to  be  partly  filled  with  water,  the 
drainage  not  being  perfect.  Descending  into  this  court, 


TOMB  OF  MARY. 


61 


the  stranger  perceives  the  low  church  or  chapel,  fronting 
the  south,  and  the  huge  black  doors  opening  on  the  very 
top  of  a  broad  flight  of  stone  steps,  which  descend  into 
the  earth  or  rock  some  twenty-five  or  thirty  feet.  I  have 
no  measurement  here,  and  speak  but  from  recollection. 
On  the  left  and  right  of  this  flight  of  steps,  about  half  way 
down,  are  two  niches,  or  small  chapels  in  the  rock,  that 
on  the  right  supposed  to  contain  the  tombs  of  Joachim 
and  Anne,  while  in  that  on  the  left  reposed  formerly  the 
bones  of  Joseph  the  carpenter.  The  foot  of  the  steps  is 
the  floor  of  the  chapel,  fronting  to  the  eastward,  and  lit 
with  many  lamps,  not  a  few  of  silver  and  gold  which  hung 
from  the  roof.  The  shrine  or  high  altar  covers  the  sup¬ 
posed  spot  of  the  Virgin’s  tomb.  These  were  beautifully 
decorated,  as  indeed  we  found  all  the  holy  places  in  Jeru¬ 
salem,  with  fresh  and  fragrant  flowers,  hyacinth  and  lav¬ 
ender  chiefly  abounding. 

We  met  a  Greek  monk  who  had  been  celebrating 
morning  prayers  alone  in  the  chapel,  and  who  willingly  re¬ 
mained  and  conversed  with  us  about  the  place,  but  he  was 
as  far  from  being  intelligent,  as  we  afterward  found  true 
of  most  of  his  church,  and  we  got  but  little  out  of  him. 

The  monks  of  the  Roman  church  in  the  Holy  Land 
were,  as  a  general  thing,  men  of  intelligence,  whom  it 
was  a  pleasure  to  meet,  and  from  whom  we  derived  very 
much  information  not  to  be  found  in  the  few  books  we 
had  with  us,  while  the  Greeks,  with  scarcely  an  exception, 
were  ignorant  and  superstitious,  having  neither  learning 
nor  intellect.  I  had  an  amusing  illustration  of  this  a  few 
days  later  in  this  same  place. 

From  the  court  of  which  I  have  spoken,  opening 
toward  the  Mount  of  Olives,  is  a  long,  narrow  passage, 
built  up  with  stone  on  each  side,  which  leads  to  a  grotto 
or  cave,  that  is  furnished  as  a  chapel  in  which  the  Greeks 
locate  the  Passion  of  the  garden. 


62 


A  WISE  MONK. 


While  I  was  one  day  in  this  chapel  the  Greek  priest  in 
attendance  told  me  it  was  a  Greek  chapel  of  high  an¬ 
tiquity  ;  and  “  there,”  said  he,  “  is  a  very  ancient  Greek 
inscription,”  pointing  to  the  roof  on  which  I  read  two  or 
three  words  of  Latin. 

“  That’s  not  Greek,”  said  I. 

“  But  it  is,”  said  he. 

“  No,  it  is  not ;”  and  I  read  it  to  him. 

He  paused,  scratched  his  chin  a  moment,  and  was  evi¬ 
dently  puzzled. 

“  But  it  must  be  Greek.” 

“  But  I  say  it  is  Latin.  Can’t  you  read  it  yourself?” 

“  Perhaps  it  is  Greek  written  in  Latin.” 

I  didn’t  precisely  understand  what  he  meant ;  but  I  left 
him  not  a  little  bothered ;  and  I  presume  he  referred  it 
to  the  Greek  bishop,  to  answer  how  a  Latin  inscription 
came  to  be  on  a  Greek  chapel-roof.  To  say  the  least,  it 
was  profanation  in  their  eyes. 

The  opening  of  this  chapel  in  the  same  court  with  the 
tomb  of  the  Virgin  *may  perhaps  serve  to  give  a  hint  to¬ 
ward  the  origin  of  the  tradition  concerning  the  latter, 
which,  so  far  as  I  can  ascertain,  has  no  earlier  date  than 
the  seventh  century. 

The  Garden  of  Gethsemane  is  near  this  spot ;  and 
Jerome  describes  that  garden  as  marked  by  a  church  as 
early  as  his  day,  and  in  the  fourth  century  ;  but  I  do  not 
find  any  mention  of  the  church  of  the  Virgin  at  this  time, 
although  if  existing  it  must  have  been  very  near  that  one. 
I  think  it  not  impossible  that  this  church  may  have  been 
originally  .the  church  of  Gethsemane,  and  subsequently 
made  by  tradition  to  answer  the  jmrpose  of  the  tombs  of 
the  Holy  Family.  In  the  time  of  the  crusades,  all  the 
churches  had  full  faith  in  this  locality. 

We  did  not  long  pause  at  the  tomb. 

A  few  steps  further  on — not  a  hundred  yards — was  an 


GETHSEM  ANE. 


63 


in  closure,  within  a  high  stone  wall,  recently  put  up,  which 
contained  eight  large  and  very  ancient  olive-trees.  It 
was  on  the  very  foot  of  the  Mount  of  Olives,  yet  elevated 
some  thirty  or  forty  feet,  perhaps  more,  above  the  brook 
Kedron.  We  passed  around  it,  to  the  rear  or  mountain 
side,  and  found  a  low  door  in  the  wall,  at  which  we 
knocked. 

It  opened,  and  a  Latin  monk,  habited  in  the  dark  robe 
of  the  Franciscans,  bade  us  enter,  and  bowing  our  heads 
very  low,  as  all  must  do  perforce,  and  as  all  should  do  on 
entering  a  spot  like  this,  we  stepped  within  the  hallowed 
inclosure  of  Gethsemane. 

It  is  a  simple  garden,  laid  out  in  beds,  bordered  with 
lavender,  among  the  old  olive-trees.  An  arbor  or  trellis- 
work  on  one  side  supports  a  large  vine  of  the  passiflora. 
In  the  walls  are  marked  fourteen  stations  for  prayer.  It 
wTas  silent,  and  we  were  alone.  The  good  father  vanished 
to  his  cell  in  the  corner,  as  if  aware  that  we  desired  no 
guide  to  tell  us  the  story  that  has  thrilled  the  heart  of 
man  in  every  land  and  age — the  saddest  and  sublimest 
story  on  all  the  rolls  of  eternity. 

Verily  he  was  right.  The  whispering  leaves  of  the 
olive-trees  told  us  the  story ;  the  winds  that  swept  over 
the  lofty  battlements  of  Mount  Moriah,  three  hundred 
feet  above  us,  told  the  story ;  the  blue,  far  sky  above  the 
Mount  of  Olives,  the  sky  he  clove  with  his  departing 
glory,  and  that  shut  him  away  from  his  disciples’  and  our 
.  longing  gaze,  told  the  story ;  the  heavy  beating  of  our 
hearts — slow,  solemn  beating — we  could  hear  them  in  the 
stillness  of  the  garden,  told  the  story  of  the  bloody  pas¬ 
sion,  and  the  agony  that  made  the  crown  of  thorns  and 
piercing  nails  as  nothing  afterward. 

“  Tu  Tu,  mi  Jesu,  totum  mo 
Amplcxus  es  in  cruce  I 
Tulisti  clavos,  lanceam, 


64 


GETHSEMANE, 


Multamque  ignominiam, 

Innumeros  dolores, 

Sudores  et  angores, 

Ac  mortem !  et  lime  propter  me, 

Ac  pro  me  peccatore  1” 

In  the  blue  sky  far  up  above  us  a  solitary  eagle  floated 
on  the  air  above  the  deserted  shrines  of  the  temple  of  the 
Lord,  and  on  the  sides  of  Moriah,  among  the  Moslem 
graves,  some  women,  dressed  in  white,  sat  by  the  tombs 
and  wept.  But  no  voice  of  human  grief  or  human  joy 
reached  the  deep  valley  to  disturb  the  profound  stillness 
of  the  garden  of  the  Passion.  The  olives  on  the  mountain 
waved  their  flashing  branches  in  the  gentle  breeze,  but 
those  within  the  inclosure  scarcely  moved.  The  lavender, 
that  bloomed  with  the  utmost  profusion,  made  the  atmos¬ 
phere  heavy  with  perfume,  as  we  sat  down  on  the  ground 
and  endeavored  to  realize  the  midnight  scene  of  the  agony 
and  the  betrayal. 

That  the  locality  which  is  now  called  Gethsemane  is 
identical  with  the  garden  in  which  Christ  was  betrayed, 
there  can  be,  I  think,  no  reasonable  doubt. 

That  this  garden  is  that  spoken  of  by  Eusebius  and  Je¬ 
rome,  I  believe  no  one  doubts,  and  the  locality  which  is 
assigned  in  the  Evangelists,  certainly  very  exactly  agrees 
with  this  spot.  Matthew,  Mark,  and  Luke  speak  of  his 
going  out  to  the  Mount  of  Olives,  and  to  a  place  which 
was  called  Gethsemane,  the  latter  saying  that  “  he  went 
as  lie  teas  wont  to  the  Mount  of  Olives.”  John  says  he 
went  forth  “  over  the  brook  Cedron  where  was  a  garden, 
into  the  which  he  entered,  and  his  disciples.”  This 
garden,  therefore,  may  very  safely  be  taken  to  occupy  a 
portion  of  the  ancient  garden,  or  to  be  within  a  few  rods, 
at  most,  of  the  spot.  The  suggestion  of  some  of  the 
modern  residents  of  Jerusalem,  that  this  is  on  the  high 
road  from  the  eastern  side  of  the  temple  and  the  city, 


GETHSEMANE. 


65 


and  in  this  respect  does  not  meet  the  idea  of  a  very  re¬ 
tired  spot,  appears  to  me  quite  groundless,  especially  as 
this  high  road  was  the  way  of  the  wilderness.  Any  one 
who  visits  the  greatest  of  oriental  cities  will  find  the  very 
gateways  sufficiently  retired  in  the  night  time,  and  this 
deep  valley  could  not  have  been  otherwise  in  the  most 
populous  days  of  the  Holy  City.  Nor  can  I  perceive 
any  point  in  the  remarks  of  a  learned  modern  writer 
who,  with  no  apparent  reason  other  than  a  design  to 
throw  a  shadow  on  the  faith  of  visitors,  finds  in  the  pass¬ 
ages  above  referred  to  some  reason  for  supposing  the 
garden  was  higher  up  on  the  Mount  of  Olives  than  it  is 
now  represented. 

I  need  not  say  that  the  garden  of  Gethsemane  was  a 
favorite  spot  with  me  during  my  stay  in  Jerusalem,  and 
that  scarcely  a  day  passed  without  finding  me  seated  un¬ 
der  the  old  olive-trees  within  its  inclosure.  Here,  over 
and  again,  I  read  the  accounts  of  that  memorable  night, 
and  of  the  suffering  of  the  Man  our  God.  Here,  in 
phrases  that  seemed  to  us  to  have  a  new  and  startling 
import,  we  discussed  the  characters  of  those  who  were 
the  actors  in  the  scene,  the  failure  of  every  disciple’s 
faith,  and  wondered  whether,  after  all,  we  had  mistaken 
Judas,  and,  as  some  one  has  argued,  it  was  possible  that 
he  betrayed  his  Master,  hoping  thereby  to  compel  him  to 
acknowledge  his  heavenly  power,  and  summon  his  legions 
of  angels  to  conquer  the  throne  and  kingdom  he,  the 
traitor,  hoped  to  share. 

Here  I  saw  the  declining  sun  go  down  behind  the  bat¬ 
tlements  of  Moriah,  and  here  not  infrequently  the  round 
moon,  coming  up  over  the  holy  summit  of  Olivet,  silvered 
the  leaves  of  the  old  trees,  and  shed  that  radiance  on  the 
spot  in  which,  best  of  all,  I  could  realize  the  scene  that 
so  thrills  the  hearts  of  Christian  men. 

Did  the  moon  shine  on  that  last  night  of  the  life  of  the 


66 


GETIISEMANE. 


Lord  before  the  sacrifice  ?  Did  the  full  moon,  in  whose 
light  young  maidens  love  to  hear  the  words  of  young 
love,  behold  that  love  which  would  not  put  away  the  cup 
of  agony,  though  countless  angels  stood  ready  to  seize 
the  chalice  and  dash  it  down  to  hell  ? 

I  never  thought  of  it  before.  In  all  the  scenes  of  all 
the  centuries  that  I  have  imagined  the  moon  beholding, 
and  of  which  I  have  striven  sometimes  to  gather  some 
intelligence  in  those  cold  calm  rays,  I  never  before  im¬ 
agined  that  on  that  still  orb,  in  the  blue  sky  of  Judea, 
the  tear-dimmed  eyes  of  the  Lord  gazed  through  the 
rustling  leaves  of  Gethsemane. 

O,  friend  of  mine,  in  your  old  home  by  the  distant 
Hudson,  where  in  grand  nights  of  western  moonshine,  or 
still,  calm  starlight,  we  have  sat  together  on  the  rocks 
and  asked  the  hosts  of  heaven  to  tell  us  stories  of  the 
Chaldeans  that  worshiped  them  on  plains  of  Orient ;  O, 
friend,  look  out  on  the  sky  to-night,  the  holy  sky,  the 
radiant  sky  whose  azure  might  befit  the  floors  of  heaven, 
and  know,  of  a  verity,  beyond  a  doubt,  beyond  a  perad- 
venture,  that  on  those  stars,  those  very  shining  groups, 
on  white  Capella,  flaming  Sirius,  on  the  brow  of  Orion, 
and  the  cold  star  of  the  pole,  the  weary  eyes  of  the 
houseless  wanderer  who  was  yet  a  God,  rested  in  child¬ 
hood  above  the  ancient  Nile,  or  when  as  a  boy  he 
climbed  the  hills  of  Nazareth,  or  when  in  those  cold 
Syrian  nights  he  walked  the  long  way  from  Galilee,  or 
when  he  slept  in  the  dewy  air  of  Olivet  with  the  stones 
of  the  hill-side  for  a  pillow  to  him  who  had  no  other  on 
which  to  lay  his  head. 

Never  again  tell  me  it  is  childish  to  love  the  moon- 
light  and  the  stars.  Sole  objects  in  all  the  universe  on 
which  I  may  look  with  perfect  confidence  that  he  looked 
on  them,  yea,  and  with  a  longing  for  the  heaven  beyond 
them,  which  he  knew  as  his  home,  and  which  I  but 


GET  USE  MANE. 


67 


doubtingly  dare  call  mine,  I  will  gaze  on  them  in  all  the 
nights  of  my  wanderings  on  earth,  and  sleep  quiet 
sleep  when  you  shall  lay  me  where  they  will  shine  on  my 
covering. 


J  b  6  S  e  p  i|  1  c  I)  !•  e , 

It  was  noon  that  first  day  before  we  left  Gethsemane, 
and  he  who  has  not  been  at  Jerusalem  can  hardly  imag¬ 
ine  the  difficulty  we  experienced  on  coming  out  of  the 
garden  and  determining  whither  we  should  direct  our 
steps. 

We  were  on  the  side  of  the  Mount  of  Olives,  and  a  few 
minutes  would  take  us  to  the  summit,  but  the  valley  of 
Jehoshaphat,  with  its  countless  objects  of  interest,  and  the 
pathway  to  the  pool  of  Siloam,  were  below  us,  and  the 
city,  inclosing  the  church  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  tempted 
us  back  toward  its  open  gates. 

While  we  were  deliberating  thus  at  the  little  doorway 
of  the  garden,  the  old  monk  who  followed  us  out,  and 
who  declined  a  proffered  bucksheesh,  pointed  out  the 
identical  spot,  marked  by  a  stone  pillar,  some  twenty  feet 
from  the  south-east  corner  of  the  garden,  where  Judas 
offered  the  traitorous  kiss.  I  bowed  silently.  I  confess 
that  I  was  somewhat  offended  at  this,  the  first  of  the 
countless  traditions  relating  to  identical  spots,  which  I 
had  met  with  ;  but,  looking  up  into  the  mild  eyes  of  the 
old  man,  and  meeting  his  kindly  gaze,  I  said, 

“  Shall  I  believe  it  ?” 

“  I  don’t  know,”  said  he,  “  that  it  is  so.  We  have  the 
tradition  ;  and  that  is  all  I  know  about  it.” 


MOUNT  OF  OLIVES. 


69 


“  Do  you  believe  it  ?” 

“  I  do.” 

I  thanked  him  more  heartily.  Bidding  him  good-morn¬ 
ing,  we  climbed  up  the  rough  path  on  the  hill-side,  till  we 
reached  a  spot  where  we  could  sit  down  and  view  the 
city  as  a  whole ;  the  spot  which  a  ruined  chapel  marks  as 
the  place  where  Christ  sat  when  he  wept  over  Jerusalem. 
Here,  with  our  whole  souls,  we  drank  in  the  view  of  the 
Holy  City. 

The  Mount  of  Olives  is  much  higher  than  either  Moriah 
or  Zion ;  so  that,  from  its  side  or  summit,  the  stranger 
looks  down  into  the  inclosure  of  the  mosk  of  Omar,  and 
can  see  the  entire  city  in  a  sort  of  bird’s-eye  view.  The 
spot  on  which  we  were  now  seated  sufficiently  answered 
the  description  to  enable  us  to  believe  that  it  was  the  place 
of  the  utterance  of  that  melancholy  prophecy  or  lament 
which  is  familiar  to  all  readers  of  the  Bible.  Besting  a 
few  moments,  for  it  is  no  trifle  to  climb  the  Mount  of 
Olives,  we  read  our  guide-books — to  wit,  our  Bibles — 
most  diligently,  and  then  resumed  the  ascent,  and  at 
length  reached  the  summit  and  the  little  village,  con¬ 
spicuous  in  which  are  the  minaret  of  the  mosk  and  the 
Church  of  the  Ascension. 

The  Mount  of  Olives  is,  perhaps,  as  well  covered  with 
olive-trees  as  it  could  have  been  in  the  days  which  gave 
it  its  name.  These  are  large  and  thrifty  on  the  summit, 
except  where  the  buildings  are  clustered.  The  village  is 
a  small,  dirty,  and  miserable  collection  of  houses,  like  all 
the  villages  of  Syria.  On  the  extreme  point  of  the  hill  is 
an  inclosed  court,  or  rather  a  yard,  the  wall  surrounding 
which  is  octagonal.  In  the  centre  is  a  small  octagonal 
building,  within  which  an  opening  in  the  marble  pave¬ 
ment  discloses  the  natural  rock  of  the  mountain,  and  in 
it  a  depression  not  remarkable  in  any  way,  and  not 
likely  to  attract  attention,  but  as  the  alleged  footprint  of 


70 


VIEW  FROM  OLIVET. 


the  ascending  son  of  Mary.  So  said  the  Mohammedan 
guardian  of  the  spot,  for  this  is  a  Moslem  sanctuary, 
though  in  all  times  open  to  Christian  visits,  for  a  consid¬ 
eration.  When  I  knelt  down  by  the  hole  to  examine  it 
closely,  the  long-bearded  old  Arab  seemed  to  fear  that  I 
was  about  to  offer  some  desecration  to  the  sacred  foot¬ 
step. 

The  minaret  is  on  the  inclosing  wall ;  and,  mounting 
the  narrow  winding  staircase,  we  found  ourselves  in  the 
muezzin’s  gallery,  looking  out  on  perhaps  the  most  sub¬ 
lime  view  on  all  the  earth. 

To  the  eastward  the  hills  went  rolling  downward,  into 
a  deep  dark  gorge.  The  descent  seemed  terrible  ;  as  if 
they  had  indeed  fallen  or  rolled  into  it,  and  lay  piled  up 
on  its  sides.  Far  down,  in  serene  beauty,  a  beauty  that 
I  had  never  expected,  lay  the  Dead  Sea,  and  beyond  it 
the  dark  mountains  of  Moab.  One  of  the  most  remark¬ 
able  ocular  delusions  that  I  have  ever  observed  is  visible 
here.  I  have  never  seen  a  person  who  would  believe,  on 
looking  at  this  view,  that  the  Dead  Sea  was  ten  miles 
distant.  To  my  own  eyes  it  appeared  not  more  than  five 
or  seven,  while  it  is  actually  more  than  twenty.  With¬ 
out  other  information  than  such  as  I  would  obtain  from 
the  view,  I  should  have  no  hesitation  in  leaving  Jeru¬ 
salem  for  a  half  day’s  walk,  to  and  from  the  shore,  which 
is  actually  two  long  days’  labor. 

To  the  west  of  us  lay  Jerusalem ;  the  vast  court  of 
El  Aksa  (called  the  Mosk  of  Omar),  in  the  south-eastern 
part  of  the  city,  covering  Mount  Moriah — the  great 
Armenian  Convent  occupying  the  south-western  part  on 
Mount  Zion — the  old  Church  of  the  Resurrection,  cover¬ 
ing  the  Sepulchre,  on  the  western  side  of  the  centre — and 
the  long  sweep  of  houses  on  the  hill  Akra,  extending  from 
Zion  quite  around  the  central  basin  to  the  north  side  of 
the  inclosure  of  the  mosk.  The  view  was  complete,  and 


WINE  OF  LEBANON. 


71 


we  lingered  on  it  long  enough  to  impress  it  forever  on 
our  memories. 

There  was  no  refusal  ofbucksheesli  here  on  the  part  of 
the  Mohammedan.  It  is  a  strong  point  in  the  character 
of  a  Mussulman,  that  he  never  refuses  it.  I  have  more 
hopes  of  them  from  this  trait  than  from  any  other.  Money 
will  reach  their  substitute  for  pockets,  the  loose  bosoms 
of  their  shirts,  and  their  hearts  are  close  by,  if  not  act¬ 
ually  carried  there.  There  was  a  Greek  priest  standing 
near  the  door  as  we  came  down  from  the  minaret,  who, 
with  most  obsequious  politeness,  offered  to  show  us  the 
Greek  chapel ;  but  I  was  obliged  to  defer  this  till  another 
day,  for  the  simple  reason  that  the  tomb  of  the  Virgin 
and  the  minaret  had  exhausted  my  silver,  and  we  could 
not  raise  a  piastre  in  the  party.  I  knew  that  the  Greek 
would  be  very  far  from  satisfied  with  such  pilgrims,  and, 
promising  him  ample  attention  in  the  future,  we  hastened 
down  the  hill,  re-entered  St.  Stephen’s  gate,  and  passing 
up  the  Via  Dolorosa,  found  ourselves  at  the  door  of  the 
house  of  .Antonio,  not  a  little  tired,  and  ready  for  lun¬ 
cheon,  which  was  waiting  our  arrival. 

Let  the  grapes  that  grow  on  Lebanon  be  remembered 
for  the  golden  wine  we  drank  that  day,  and  always  after¬ 
ward  in  Jerusalem.  It  was  light,  very  much  like  amber 
Muscat,  and,  after  the  heavy  Spanish  wines  we  had  been 
using,  was  delicate  and  refreshing.  Our  daily  luncheon 
in  Jerusalem  consisted  of  oranges  from  Jaffa  and  that 
wine  of  Lebanon,  with  a  cake  of  white  bread,  known  al¬ 
ways  as  the  Jews’  bread,  exceedingly  fine  and  delicious. 

It  was  three  in  the  afternoon  when  we  went  out  to  the 
Church  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre. 

I  had  shrunk  from  this  visit,  because  I  had  expected  to 
be  shocked  by  the  stories  I  should  hear  and  the  scenes  I 
should  pass  through. 

Having  thoroughly  devoted  myself  to  the  elaborate 


12 


CHURCH  OF  THE  SEPULCHRE. 


volumes  of  Dr.  Robinson  as  a  preparation  for  Syrian 
travel,  and  brought  them  with  me  as  the  best  guide-book 
aside  from  the  Bible,  I  had  yielded  myself  entirely  to  the 
views  of  that  learned  writer  on  all  subjects  relating  to 
the  Holy  Places,  so  that  my  mind  was  at  rest  on  the 
subject  of  the  reputed  localities  of  the  Sepulchre  and 
Calvary.  I  did  not  think  there  was  the  slightest  possi¬ 
bility  of  their  being  authentic,  and  in  the  morning  when 
I  was  ascending  the  Mount  of  Olives,  I  had  pointed  up 
the  valley  of  Jehoshaphat  to  the  broad  basin-like  swelling 
of  the  valley  near  the  north-east  corner  of  the  city,  and 
remarked  to  Whitely  that  it  was  an  amphitheatre,  the 
centre  of  which  might  well  have  been  selected  for  a  pub¬ 
lic  execution,  affording  ample  room  for  thousands  to  look 
on,  and  being  near  many  rock-hewn  tombs  now  open  and 
abandoned. 

It  was  therefore  with  an  involuntary  sneer  of  derision 
that  I  found  myself  among  the  crowd  of  cross  and  ro¬ 
sary-venders,  beggars,  priests,  children  and  Arabs,  that 
thronged  the  court  in  front  of  the  grand  old  doorway  of 
the  church,  and  saw  within  the  door  the  stone  of  unction, 
surrounded  by  pilgrims,  who  were  kissing  and  pressing 
their  foreheads  to  it  in  passionate  attitudes. 

By  referring  to  the  ground  plan  of  the  church,  the 
reader  will  have  no  difficulty  in  following  me  through  it. 
Approaching  the  entrance,  I  saw  more  plainly  the  tapers 
that  surrounded  this  stone,  which  is  in  fact  a  slab  of  the 
ordinary  stone  of  Jerusalem,  worn  smooth  with  myriads 
of  kisses,  and  situated  at  about  that  intermediate  distance 
between  the  cross  and  the  tomb  at  which  the  body  of 
Christ  might  be  supposed  to  have  been  laid  when  Joseph 
prepared  it  for  temporary  burial.  The  Turkish  guardian 
of  the  door,  who  sat  at  its  left,  looked  with  stupid,  un¬ 
meaning  gaze  at  the  devout  who  entered  on  their  knees. 

“  Ah,  mi  frater  !”  exclaimed  a  musical  voice,  as  I  was 


CHURCH  OF  THE  HOLY  SEPULCHRE. 


CALVARY. 


73 


about  to  enter  the  ancient  and  massive  doorway,  and  the 
next  instant  two  hands  were  laid  on  my  shoulders,  and  a 
pair  of  dark,  lustrous  eyes  of  exceeding  gentleness  and 
tenderness  looked  into  mine  from  under  the  cowl  of  a 
Franciscan. 

With  more  pleasure  than  I  can  well  describe,  I  recog¬ 
nized  my  old  friend,  Fra  Giovanni,  whom  the  reader  of  my 
Boat  Life  in  Egypt  and  Nubia  will  remember  I  had  met 
in  the  south  of  France,  and  with  whom  I  had  traveled 
to  Malta.  An  Italian,  young,  wealthy,  educated,  and  of 
excellent  family,  he  had,  for  some  reason  that  I  knew 
nothing  of,  unless  I  ascribe  it  to  his  sincere  piety,  joined 
the  Franciscans,  and  devoted  his  splendid  abilities  to 
disseminating  the  Catholic  faith  wherever  his  feet  might 
lead  him  to  teach  and  preach.  By  what  chance  he  had 
wandered  to  Jerusalem  I  did  not  ask  him,  but  having 
parted  with  real  sorrow  on  my  side,  and  I  have  faith  to 
believe,  on  his  also,  we  met  with  the  more  pleasure 
from  the  total  unexpectedness  of  the  rencontre,  as  well 
as  the  eminent  sanctity  of  the  place. 

“  See,  now — I  am  leaving  Jerusalem  to-morrow  at  day¬ 
break,  and  I  shall  see  no  more  of  you.  Where  is  it  you 
are  going  ?  To  make  the  stations  ?  Ah,  no — you  are  a 
heretic ;  but  I  will  turn  with  you,  and  we  will  talk  as  wo 
walk,  and  I  will  show  you  the  holy  places.  Take  my  arm 
— this  is  the  way  to  Calvary.” 

We  turned  short  to  the  right  as  we  entered  the  great 
doorway,  to  the  foot  of  a  flight  of  steps  leading  up  to  a 
marble-floored  platform,  erected  so  as  to  bring  the  visitor 
on  a  level  with  a  top  of  a  spur  of  the  natural  rock  of  the 
hill,  which  rises  some  twelve  or  fifteen  feet  above  the 
floor  of  the  church,  which  is  in  a  great  measure  the  solid 
rock  also. 

“  This  is  the  Latin  stairway.  Our  Greek  friends  will 
not  mount  to  Calvary  by  the  same  steps  wto  use.  Is  it 

4 


74 


SOCKET  OF  THE  CROSS. 


not  strange  that  men  can  not  consent  to  approach  the 
cross  of  the  Lord  by  the  same  road  ?  Yonder  is  their 
stairway.” 

And  so  we  ascended  and  were  on  the  platform,  overhung 
with  lamps  of  gold  and  lamps  of  silver,  swinging  from  the 
roof  by  long  chains,  and  especially  numerous  at  the  east¬ 
ern  end,  where  a  taper  burning  dimly  under  a  marble 
altar,  resembling  in  some  measure  a  pier  table,  disclosed 
a  golden  plate  on  the  marble  with  which  every  thing  was 
cased.  So  low  was  the  altar  that  no  one  could  approach 
that  golden  plate  without  kneeling,  and  we  knelt,  as  men 
may  do  whether  believing  or  not,  when  approaching  the 
spot  which  for  fifteen  hundred  years  has  been  believed  to 
be  the  socket  in  which  the  cross  of  Christ  was  fixed. 

The  plate,  when  pushed  aside,  disclosed  the  hole  in  the 
rock.  One  peculiarity  of  the  state  of  affairs  at  Jerusalem, 
where  all  the  rival  churches  claim  equal  rights,  is,  that  the 
pilgrim  who  is  a  stranger,  may  touch  and  handle  all  the 
relics.  No  one  forbids,  for  no  Greek  dare  forbid  a  Latin 
or  an  Armenian  or  a  Copt,  nor,  vice  versa ,  dare  either  of 
the  others  forbid  one  not  of  his  own  faith  and  church. 

Therefore  I  had  no  hesitation  in  lighting  a  pocket  can¬ 
dle  which  Egyptian  experience  had  taught  me  to  carry 
always  with  me,  which  having  placed  in  the  hole  in  the 
rock,  I  looked  in.  It  wTas  a  hole  two  feet  deep,  and  six 
inches  square,  nothing  more.  Close  by  it  a  long  narrow 
strip  of  gold  covered  a  slit  in  the  marble  which  disclosed 
a  rift  in  the  rock.  Going  under  the  platform  afterward 
we  saw  in  the  chapel  below,  this  same  rift  widened  into  a 
curious  hollow,  which  is  called  the  tomb  of  Adam. 

Brother  Giovanni  was  kneeling  with  his  face  toward 
Calvary  when  I  retired  backward,  as  one  necessarily  must 
in  coming  away  from  the  spot  which  he  has  approached 
on  his  knees  under  the  slab  of  an  altar,  but  rose  and 
looked  with  me  at  the  rift  in  the  rock. 


TOMBS  OF  CRUSADERS. 


75 


“  Curious — I  have  not  seen  that  before.” 

“You  have  been  here  often?” 

“  All  day  long  for  ten  days  ;  but  I  confess  that  I  have 
knelt  longest  at  the  Sepulchre  and  have  but  prayed  a  few 
moments  each  morning  here.” 

“That  is  the  way  with  you  always,  brother  John;  I 
told  you  so  at  Arles  and  Avignon.  It  is  well  enough  to 
be  religious,  but  why  let  your  religion  be  so  absorbing  as  to 
forbid  your  observing  the  common  occurrences  of  life  ?” 

“  I  came  here  to  pray.” 

“Yes,  I  understand  that,  but  interrupt  your  prayers  a 
little  to  use  your  eyes.  Think  how  strangely  it  would 
have  appeared  to  leave  Jerusalem  not  having  seen  the 
rift  in  the  rock  which  the  tradition  of  the  churches 
ascribes  to  the  earthquake  on  the  evening  of  the  cruci¬ 
fixion.” 

“  What  will  it  matter  fifty  years  hence  when  I  shall  be 
in  the  new  city  of  the  Lord  ?” 

“  There  is  something  in  that,  my  friend.” 

By  this  time  we  had  descended  to  the  level  of  the 
church  floor,  and  entering  a  doorway  under  the  platform, 
approached  the  rock  of  Calvary  on  this  lower  level.  On 
the  right  and  the  left  of  the  passage  once  lay  those  stern 
and  magnificent  guardians  of  the  Holy  Cross,  Godfrey  and 
Baldwin,  who  in  turn,  having  fought  valiantly  as  brave 
knights  without  fear  and  without  reproach,  slept  in  their 
armor  at  the  foot  of  Calvary.  Their  graves  are  still 
pointed  out,  but  whether  the  dust  of  the  mighty  is  still 
within  their  sepulchres  is  considered  at  the  least  very 
doubtful.  Around  them  once  lay  the  other  kings  of  Jeru¬ 
salem,  men  whose  swords  flashed  along  the  hills  from 
Ascalon  to  Nazareth,  whose  heavy  mail  rang  along  the 
walls  of  Jerusalem,  and  who,  having  fought  for  the  Holy 
Cross,  lay  down  with  content  and  joy  at  Calvary.  Pass¬ 
ing  through  this  chapel  we  approached  the  grating  behind 


76 


THE  SEPULCHRE. 


which  a  dim  taper  revealed  the  tomb  of  Adam.  I  again 
made  use  of  my  candle  to  light  the  dark  hole  in  the  rock, 
at  which  brother  John  glanced  a  moment,  as  I  did.  But 
we  hastened  toward  the  great  point  of  attraction  in  the 
church,  the  Holy  Sepulchre. 

I  pity  the  man  who  can  approach  irreverently  this 
shrine.  I  have  already  said  that  I  did  not  believe  in  the 
authenticity  of  the  spot.  I  approached  it  as  I  would  a 
great  curiosity,  but  I  approached  it  with  profound  respect 
and  awe. 

Around  it  for  eighteen  centuries  men  have  knelt  with 
beating  hearts  and  throbbing  brows.  Toward  it  for 
eighteen  hundred  years  men  have  yearned  with  unutter¬ 
able  longing,  and  in  distant  lands,  have  turned  their  pale 
faces  and  fast  dimming  eyes  before  they  died.  Millions  who 
have  gone  to  God,  pious,  humble,  holy  men,  believed  that 
on  that  rock  the  ineffable  form  of  Christ  dead  once  lay, 
and  millions,  foot-worn  with  long  travel,  knelt  just  here 
and  sanctified  the  place  with  the  burning  incense  of  de¬ 
vout  prayer. 

Beyond  all  bigotry  I  place  that  of  men  who  find  idolatry 
in  worshiping  God  before  the  tomb  in  which  he  lay, 
or  who  condemn  all  forms  and  ceremonies  of  religious 
worship,  even  to  forgetting  their  belief  that  the  holy 
sacraments  of  their  church  are  but  forms  themselves. 

There  is  mummery  enough  among  the  Christians  of 
every  name  who  crowd  this  church,  but  all  the  mummery 
was  not  sufficient  to  forbid  in  my  heart  the  sympathy  it 
felt  with  the  poor  pilgrims  from  distant  countries  who 
knelt  before  the  door  of  the  tomb,  or  to  drive  back  the 
thrilling  memories  that  crowded  on  my  mind  when  I 
found  myself  at  length  standing  on  the  threshold  of  the 
Holy  Sepulchre.  Nor  alone  then,  at  my  first  visit,  but 
afterward,  as  I  began  to  understand  better  the  evidence 
and  the  locality. 


THE  SEPULCHRE. 


11 


Foremost  of  all,  I  saw  the  queenly  form  of  the  old 
mother  of  the  Roman  emperor,  seeking,  over  the  hills  of 
rubbish  that  were  once  the  garden  walls  and  kiosks  of 
Jerusalem,  the  heathen  fane  on  the  spot  to  which  the  per¬ 
secuted  Christians  of  those  times  led  her,  and  which  they 
pointed  out  as  covering  the  sepulchre  in  which  the  Sav¬ 
iour  lay,  hewn  in  the  rocky  hill-side,  close  by  Golgotha. 
There  was  no  tradition  related  of  it,  no  “  thus  saith  the 
story,”  but  they  knew  the  spot  even  as  they  knew  Mount 
Zion,  and  the  pool  of  Siloam,  and  Olivet,  and  Bethlehem. 
From  the  day  of  the  crucifixion  to  this,  there  had  been 
no  time  when  any  other  place  was  called  Golgotha,  any 
more  than  when  any  other  city  has  been  called  Jerusa¬ 
lem,  and  the  queen-mother,  a  humble  pilgrim,  listened  to 
the  old  man  who  said,  “  My  father’s  father  knew  many 
who  saw  him  crucified,  dead,  and  buried  in  this  tomb.” 

Then  the  long  line  of  patriarchs,  bishops,  priests,  and 
kings,  who  had  done  homage  here,  followed  in  swift  pro¬ 
cession,  even  to  the  valiant  Omar,  who  wrould  not  kneel 
lest  his  followers  should  on  that  account  claim  a  right  to 
the  spot  for  future  worship.  And  then,  with  flashing 
arms  and  ringing  tread, 'the  valiant  Rights  of  the  Cross 
and  Sepulchre,  and  their  followers,  a  countless  array  of 
men  who  died  for  Holy  Cross  on  the  plains  of  Holy  Land, 
with  eager  eyes  to  the  hills  that  hid  Jerusalem,  and,  last 
of  all,  the  pilgrim  hosts,  who,  laden  with  sins,  came  here 
and  laid  them  down,  from  their  consciences  if  not  from 
their  souls,  on  this  small  floor  of  rock,  six  feet  by  three ! 
What  kingly  and  what  lowly  hearts  have  hushed  their 
throbbing  pains  within  this  little  rock-hewn  chamber ! 

In  the  centre  of  the  rotunda,  at  the  west  end  of  the 
church,  under  the  open  dome,  stands  a  small  building  on 
the  solid  rock  which  is  the  floor  of  the  church.  This 
building  is  of  elaborate  construction,  chiefly  consisting  of 
fine  marbles.  It  has  but  one  entrance,  on  the  eastern 


I 


78  THE  SEPULCHRE. 

side,  over  which  hangs  a  sloping  canopy,  painted  blue 
and  studded  with  stars.  The  building  contains  two 
chambers,  the  outer  one  known  as  the  Chapel  of  the 
Angel,  and  the  inner  as  the  Sepulchre.  I  shall  devote 
more  space  elsewhere  to  a  discussion  of  the  construc¬ 
tion  of  this  building  and  of  the  Sepulchre,  using  in  this 
description  the  conclusions  to  which  I  afterward  arrived 
on  careful  examination  and  study,  without  pausing  here 
for  arguments. 

Entering  the  Chapel  of  the  Angel,  which  is  a  small  apart¬ 
ment,  some  ten  feet  by  six,  in  the  centre  of  which  a  stone, 
raised  on  a  pedestal,  does  duty  as  part  of  the  stone  that 
once  closed  the  small  doorway  before  us,  we  stooped  to 
enter  this,  and  found  ourselves  within  the  “  new  tomb 
which  Joseph  had  hewn  out  in  the  rock,”  the  “sepulchre 
wherein  never  man  before  was  laid”  until  the  day  of  re¬ 
demption. 

Even  on  that  first  visit,  as  I  stooped  down  and  looked 
in  before  I  entered,  there  was  a  sudden  recollection  of  the 
attitude  of  that  other  disciple  who  accompanied  Peter  on 
the  morning  of  the  first  day  of  the  week  when  he  thus 
stooped  down  and  looked  in,  which  forcibly  impressed  me, 
and  I  might  have  been  pardoned  for  a  flashing  thought,  a 
momentary  expectation,  that  within  I  should  see  the  an¬ 
gels. 

But  within  I  found  a  simple  excavated  tomb,  on  the 
right  side  of  which,  elevated  from  the  floor,  was  a  shelf, 
or  bench,  of  white  marble,  extending  from  end  to  end, 
and  occupying  all  that  part  of  the  floor  which  was  on  the 
right  hand  of  the  door.  The  floor,  sides,  and  roof  of  this 
room,  are  the  solid  rock  out  of  which  the  tomb  is  hewn, 
and  the  marble  slab  probably  covers  a  bench  of  the  rough 
stone  left  in  the  hewing  to  receive  a  single  body.  Such 
is  the  custom  in  nearly  all  the  tombs  around  Jerusalem, 
and  the  traveler  who  has  become  familiar  with  the  form 


THE  SEPULCHRE. 


79 


of  these  sepulchres,  will  recognize  the  exact  similarity. 
The  roof  is  perforated  with  a  round  hole,  through  which 
escapes  the  smoke  of  the  gold,  silver,  and  brazen  lamps, 
which  hang  over  the  marble  slab.  The  latter  has  across 
it,  about  half  way  its  length,  a  singular  fissure,  which  ap¬ 
pears  like  a  wide  crack,  but  does  not  extend  quite  across, 
and  is  thus  evidently  not  a  crack.  It  appears  more  as  if 
a  thin  stratum  of  softer  stone  had  crumbled  out  and  dis¬ 
appeared,  but  the  eye  can  not  see  any  thing  through  it. 
I  have  somewhere  seen  it  stated  that  this  fissure  was  arti¬ 
ficial,  designed  to  give  the  slab  a  broken  appearance,  and 
prevent  its  being  appropriated  by  Mussulman  rapacity. 
I  doubt  this. 

Brazen  lamps  most  abounded,  and  in  this  I  was  disap¬ 
pointed,  as  also  in  finding  that  many  of  the  ornaments  of 
the  church  were  of  brass.  The  reason  for  this  I  subse¬ 
quently  learned,  and  it  will  appear  hereafter  when  I  shall 
have  occasion  to  describe  the  splendor  and  magnificence 
of  the  royal  gifts  to  the  holy  sepulchre  which  I  saw  else¬ 
where. 

A  Greek  monk  stood  at  the  head  of  the  tomb,  reading 
prayers  with  an  inaudible  motion  of  his  lips,  and  I  never 
visited  the  Sepulchre  afterward  without  finding  him  or 
his  substitute  in  the  same  place  and  the  same  attitude. 

The  length  of  the  entire  excavated  chamber  is  six  feet 
two  inches,  the  breadth  about  six  feet,  of  which  breadth 
three  feet  one  inch  is  occupied  by  the  shelf. 

I  pause  here  a  moment  to  direct  attention  to  the  per¬ 
fect  manner  in  which  this  rock-hewn  tomb  meets  the  vari¬ 
ous  descriptions  of  the  evangelist. 

It  was  a  tomb  “  hewn  out  of  a  rock.”  The  door  wTas 
so  low  that  one  must  stoop  down  to  look  in.  When  they 
laid  the  body  there,  they  went  in  and  saw  how  it  was  laid. 
It  was  on  a  level  along  which  a  stone  could  be  rolled  or 
moved  against  it  so  as  to  close  the  entrance.  When  thev 

v 


80  THE  SEPULCHRE. 

came  to  seek  him  on  the  morning  after  the  Sabbath,  they 
entered  in  and  saw  a  young  man  sitting  on  the  right  side , 
and  afterward,  when  others  came,  Mary  saw  two  angels, 
the  one  at  the  head  and  the  other  at  the  feet  where  the 
body  of  Jesus  had  lain ,  that  is  on  the  spot,  shelf  or  what¬ 
ever  it  was,  from  which  the  body  was  now  gone,  but  which 
it  had  occupied. 

Obviously  these,  and  many  other  striking  points  of 
agreement  (without  one,  so  far  as  I  know,  of  disagreement) 
may  be  accounted  for  by  saying  that  they  who  originally 
selected  this  tomb  for  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  were  shrewd 
enough  to  select  a  tomb  that  would  answer  all  the  descrip¬ 
tion,  but  he  who  attributes  this  adroitness  to  them,  must 
not  falsify  his  argument  by  supposing  them  at  the  same 
time  so  stupid  and  destitute  of  shrewdness,  or  even  of 
common  cunning,  as  to  select  a  spot  within  the  walls  of 
J erusalem,  and  thus  entirely  unfit  to  answer  the  descrip¬ 
tion. 

A  few  moments  sufficed  for  that  first  visit  to  the  Sepul¬ 
chre.  I  found  Fra  Giovanni  kneeling  at  a  little  distance 
from  the  door. 

We  then  proceeded  to  visit  in  succession  the  various 
spots  of  interest  in  the  church  whose  vast  extent  is 
scarcely  to  be  comprehended  in  America,  a  land  of  no 
very  large  religious  buildings. 

The  reader  who  remembers  that  the  tomb  is  located 
by  the  evangelists,  in  the  same  place  with  the  cross,  will 
not  be  surprised  to  find  the  two  under  the  same  roof.  In 
ancient  times  this  was  not  so ;  but  the  church  which  orig¬ 
inally  covered  the  Sepulchre  has  been  so  extended  as  to 
include  Calvary  also,  which  was  formerly  in  an  outer 
chapel. 

From  the  dome,  running  eastward,  the  grand  nave  of 
the  church  is  an  inclosed  chapel,  in  possession  of  the 
Greeks,  splendidly  ornamented  with  costly,  exquisite 


OTHER  HOLY  PLACES. 


81 


paintings,  and  elaborate  architectural  details,  at  the  ex¬ 
pense  of  the  Emperor  of  Russia.  This  extends  from  a  point 
not  many  feet  west  of  the  Chapel  of  the  Angel  to  a  point 
beyond  the  location  of  Calvary,  which  lies  south  of  it. 
Within  this  chapel,  a  stone  in  the  pavement  marks  the 
Greek  centre  of  the  world,  an  idea  I  found  some  difficulty 
in  getting  an  explanation  of,  and  which  I  do  not  yet  un¬ 
derstand.  Returning  on  the  south  and  outer  side  of  this 
chapel,  passing  the  stone  of  unction  and  the  steps  of  Cal¬ 
vary,  we  found  the  several  Chapels  of  St.  Longinus,  of  the 
bonds  of  Christ,  of  the  Mocking,  of  the  Casting  of  Lots 
and  Dividing  the  Garments,  and  reached  a  broad  flight  of 
steps  which  led  down  into  the  Chapel  of  St.  Helena,  now 
in  possession  of  the  Armenians,  from  which  other  steps 
led  down  into  a  chapel  in  the  solid  rock,  which  is  said  to 
be  the  spot  where  Helena  found  the  true  cross,  and  is 
known  as  the  Chapel  of  the  Invention  of  the  Cross.  This 
is  a  dark  cavernous  room,  presenting  the  appearance  of  a 
chamber  dug  out  underneath  projecting  masses  of  rock, 
and  roofed  over  from  the  sky. 

Lienee  we  went  back  on  the  other  or  northern  side  of 
the  Greek  chapel,  and  visited  the  Chapel  of  the  Appa¬ 
rition  to  the  Virgin,  which  is  now  the  Latin  chapel,  and 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  parts  of  the  building,  possessing 
a  small  organ,  whose  music  is  exceedingly  offensive  to 
the  Greeks,  who  are  not  possessed  of  a  similar  instrument. 
While  we  were  here,  a  loud  noise,  much  like  miniature 
thunder,  startled  us.  It  was  the  rapping  on  a  board 
swung  near  the  door,  which  is  the  oriental  substitute  for 
a  bell.  It  resounded  through  the  aisles  and  arches  of  the 
church,  warning  all  visitors  and  worshipers  that  the 
building  was  now  to  be  closed,  and  they  must  depart. 

There  was  much  yet  to  be  seen,  but  we  had  ample  time 
before  us  to  see  it,  and  we  hastened  out,  with  pilgrims, 
priests,  and  beggars,  the  latter  a  motley  and  pertinacious 

4* 


82 


4 


THE  SEPULCHRE, 

crowd,  who  followed  you  even  into  the  Sepulchre  itself, 
when  we  entered,  and  now  to  the  very  outlet  of  the  great 
court,  where  we  could  scarcely  escape  them  through  the 
doorway  that  leads  to  a  street  of  filthy  tanneries,  once 
the  street  of  the  grand  hospital  of  St.  John. 

A  daily  visitor  to  the  Sepulchre  after  this,  I  became  fa¬ 
miliar  with  all  the  passages  of  the  building,  and  spent 
many  hours  each  day  in  its  shadowy  aisles. 

Whether  it  were  or  were  not  the  true  sepulchre  of 
Christ,  the  place  which  has  been  regarded  as  such  for  fif¬ 
teen  hundred  years  is  not  to  be  regarded  with  other  than 
earnest,  even  tearful  eyes.  Around  it  holy  men  had 
prayed  for  many  generations  since  Eusebius,  and  Maca¬ 
rius,  and  Jerome,  and  Sabas,  and  many  other  worthies 
who  have  long  since  gone  to  see  the  ascended  glory  of 
the  crucified  son  of  Mary.  Clinging  with  stout  hands  to 
its  marble  adornments,  thousands  of  martyrs  have  per¬ 
ished  under  the  sword  of  the  enemies  of  the  cross.  Many 
thousand  dying  sinners  and  dying  saints  in  all  countries 
and  all  times  have  looked  to  it  with  the  last  straining  gaze 
of  their  dim  eyes,  and  died  with  smiling  countenances 
turned  toward  the  tomb.  Stout  men  have  fought  around 
it,  and  died  for  Holy  Cross  on  the  threshold  of  the  Sepul¬ 
chre.  Pilgrims  from  far  lands  have  laid  their  burdens 
down  on  its  rocky  floor,  and  prayers  and  tears  have  hal¬ 
lowed  it;  so  that,  if  it  were  the  tomb  of  Judas  himself,  it 
is  redeemed  and  sanctified  as  the  memorial  of  more  earn¬ 
est  faith  and  adoration  than  any  other  spot  of  ground  on 
this  side  the  pearl  gates. 

It  was  my  custom,  and  a  daily  pleasure,  to  stand  at  the 
entrance  of  the  Latin  Chapel  of  the  Apparition  of  Christ 
to  Mary  after  the  Resurrection,  and  look  toward  the 
Sepulchre,  and  watch  the  kneeling  pilgrims  of  all  lands 
as  they  looked  to  the  little  building  which  once  contained 
the  Hope  of  the  world. 


THE  CRESCENT. 


83 


I  could  laugh  there  at  the  petty  pride  of  Turks  who 
sauntered  around  the  rotunda,  with  ill-concealed  sneers 
on  their  faces,  for  the  Christian  dogs  that  knelt  here  and 
there  on  the  pavement.  I  could  laugh,  for  I  beheld  the 
visible  evidence  of  the  grandeur  of  our  holy  faith. 

In  that  little  tomb,  one  sad  night,  when  the  stars  were 
over  Jerusalem,  there  lay  the  worn  and  wasted  body  of 
One  who  had  suffered  an  ignominious  death.  Here,  where 
I  stood,  Roman  soldiers  sat  on  the  rocky  floor,  and  clashed 
their  armor  rudely  as  they  passed  the  night  in  alternate 
jest  and  brawl,  rattling  the  dice  on  the  rock  by  the  light 
of  a  dim  taper,  and  cursing  each  other  by  the  gods  of 
Rome,  while  they  recked  nothing  who  or  what  was  the 
dead  body  they  were  set  to  watch.  And  somewhere 
within  Jerusalem  a  few  men  and  women  were  weeping 
the  long  night  through  in  hopeless  agony,  the  scoff  of  a 
nation  who  had  rejected  the  claims  of  their  master  as 
king  and  Messiah. 

But  the  scene  is  changed.  The  Saviour  is  risen.  The 
religion  of  the  Cross  and  Tomb  has  become  the  relig¬ 
ion  of  the  world.  The  nails  that  men  believed  were  the 
nails  that  pierced  his  hands  were  wrought  into  the  proud¬ 
est  crown  of  human  grandeur;  and  the  fragments  they 
supposed  to  be  of  the  wood  on  which  he  hung  are  shrined 
in  palace-cathedrals  of  unknown  wealth  and  gorgeous¬ 
ness. 

From  the  little  handful  of  disciples,  the  followers  of  the 
FTazarene  have  grown  to  be  a  host  more  than  any  man 
can  number,  of  every  nation  under  heaven.  The  stand¬ 
ards  of  Christian  powers  are  triumphant  on  every  bat¬ 
tle-field;  and  the  day  has  arrived  in  which  there  is  no 
nation  of  the  earth  able  to  say  that  it  can  stand  and  be 
other  than  Christian.  It  was  easy  to  laugh  at  the  haughty 
Turk,  who  sneered  at  the  poor  pilgrim,  ragged  and  dirty, 
who  had  but  now  arrived  within  the  Jaffa  gate,  and 


84 


THE  CROSS. 


rushed  to  lay  his  load  down  at  the  Sepulchre.  He  was 
the  master  here ;  but  that  poor  pilgrim  was  the  repre¬ 
sentative  of  the  religion  of  that  tomb,  by  the  suffrance  of 
whose  followers  he  was  permitted  to  lord  it  a  little  while 
in  Jerusalem,  but  who  will  ere  long — God  grant  it  be 
soon ! — sweep  from  the  face  of  the  earth  every  vestige  of 
the  religion  of  the  camel-driver  of  Mecca. 


6. 

SqKjdqi  Shoot)  f)  ri  5  Sc^il  op~$helI. 

“  Ya  Ferrajj  !” 

How  soon  one  learns  to  dispense  with  bells.  The  win¬ 
dow  of  our  dining  and  sitting  room  opened  out  over  the 
broad  court.  The  kitchen,  which  was  always  filled  with 
Mukarri  and  Bedouins,  was  on  the  opposite  side  of  it. 
When  we  wanted  a  servant  we  thundered  his  name,  with, 
out  leaving  our  seats  by  the  table  or  the  fire. 

“  Ya  Ferrajj !” 

The  sentry  on  the  wall  by  the  Damascus  gate  could 
hear  me,  for  the  night  was  clear,  moony,  and  calm,  and 
all  was  still  and  death-like  over  sleeping  Jerusalem.  A 
dozen  dogs  howled  as  my  voice  went  out  and  disturbed 
the  silence,  which  instantly  resumed  its  solemn  dominion 
when  they  ceased  their  howling. 

The  Nubian  entered. 

“Wine  and  chibouks.  Let  Antonio  find  a  bottle  of 
Lebanon.  Have  the  horses  ready  early  in  the  morning  for 
the  road.  We  go  to  Bethlehem.  Fill  a  chibouk  for  Father 
John.  Now  go  to  bed  and  keep  that  infernal  crew  of 
Bedouins  still  in  the  kitchen.  If  I  hear  such  a  row  again  as 
last  night,  I’ll  send  six  balls  from  my  revolver  down  through 
the  kitchen  door,  hit  or  miss — do  you  understand  ?” 

“  Aiowali.” 

We  were  scarcely  settled  in  our  chairs  when  there 
came  up  from  the  kitchen  such  a  confused  clamor  of 


86 


A  REVOLVER. 


voices  as  none  but  an  Arab  crowd  can  get  up.  I  threw 
open  the  window  and  cracked  away  with  my  revolver, 
taking  good  care  to  hit  the  flagging  of  the  court  each 
time,  while  Whitely  ran  down  to  see  the  effect.  At  the 
first  shot  the  silence  was  instantaneous  and  profound,  and 
at  the  sixth  he  threw  open  the  kitchen  door.  No  sign  of 
life  was  to  be  seen.  Twelve  Arabs  of  various  sorts  were 
there,  but  you  might  have  thought  every  man  of  them 
shot  six  times  through  the  brain.  Packed  away  under 
the  benches  or  table  in  the  corner  furthest  away  from  the 
door  and  out  of  range,  there  they  lay,  a  mass  of  silent, 
horror-stricken  wretches.  When  he  ordered  them  out 
they  seemed  to  think  he  was  Azrael  or  the  angel  of  judg¬ 
ment,  and  that  they  were  dead  and  only  waiting  to  be 
damned.  No  man  of  them  dared  stir  hand  or  foot. 
Ferrajj  and  Abd-el-Atti  were  in  bed  in  their  own  places, 
but  Hajji  Mohammed,  tolerably  well  soaked  in  arrakee, 
was  at  the  bottom  of  the  heap,  most  scared  of  all,  and 
Betuni,  more  like  a  monkey  than  ever,  Betuni,  who 
was  the  companion  of  my  wanderings  over  holy  hills  for 
a  long  time  after  this,  was  on  the  top  of  the  pile,  recog¬ 
nizable  only  by  his  red  morocco  boots,  which  stood  out 
in  the  air  like  signals  of  distress,  while  his  head  wras 
buried  out  of  sight  among  the  limbs  of  his  Arab  com¬ 
panions.  After  that  we  had  silence  for  a  long  evening’s 
talk  with  Fra  Giovanni. 

The  night  was  cool  and  the  fire  blazed  brightly  in  the 
open  stove  piled  full  of  stumps  of  old  olive-trees  (I  know 
it  was  sacrilege  to  burn  such  wood).  Our  long  chibouks, 
with  fresh  sticks  of  lemon-tree,  were  fragrant  with  Lata- 
kea,  and  our  glasses  filled  with  that  delicious  wine  of 
Lebanon,  the  memory  whereof  is  aromatic.  Then  we 
talked,  and  listened  to  the  low,  pleasant  voice  of  Fra  Gio¬ 
vanni  till  the  midnight  moon  looked  down  to  the  very 
depths  of  J ehoshaphat.  W e  spoke  of  pilgrims  to  the  Holy 


PILGRIMS.  •  87 

Land,  a  subject  replete  with  a  thousand  stories  of  the  faith 
and  endurance  of  man. 

“  Think  you  there  was  really  any  virtue  in  it,  then,  my 
friend?  Are  you  so  far  a  believer  in  the  doctrine  of 
good  works  as  to  suppose,  of  a  verity,  that  they  who 
made  the  weary  pilgrimage  thereby  expiated  the  sins  they 
carried  with  them  ?” 

“  Doubtless  on  the  way  they  had  much  of  opportunity 
for  thought,  reflection,  and  repentance,  and  here  they  had 
abundant  subjects  for  holy  consideration  and  motives  to 
humility.  I  think  the  pilgrimage  was  not  wholly  in  vain.” 

“  Strange  men.” 

“Yea,  strange  beyond  what  we  can  well  appreciate 
or  understand.  And  yet  it  is  a  well-known  fact,  that  of 
all  the  thousands  of  thousands  who  made  the  pilgrim¬ 
age  to  Holy  Land  before  the  time  of  the  Crusades,  there 
is  not  recorded  one  act  of  wrong  committed  on  the  way, 
though  powerful  knights  and  robber  barons  made  the 
pilgrimage  with  full  forces.  Even  the  Moslems  them¬ 
selves  said  of  them,  ‘Non  qucerunt  mala ,  sed  legem  eorum 
adimplere  cupiunt Many  a  time  have  I,  poor  sinner 
that  I  am  for  a  servant  of  the  Lord,  when  I  have  been 
reading  the  noble  deeds  of  the  order  of  St.  Benedict, 
found  myself  admiring  the  valor  of  the  pilgrim  more  than 
his  faith,  and  my  soul  thrilling  when  I  read  of  the  might 
of  his  strong  arm  more  than  when  I  read  of  his  penances 
and  pain.  How  I  have  lingered  on  the  story  of  Frotmond 
of  Brittany,  who,  with  ashes  on  his  brow  and  chains  on 

*  Vita  sive  Hodceporicon  S.  Willibaldi.  (A.D.  765.)  Sec.  VIII. 
The  Saracens  having  captured  Willibald  and  his  seven  companions,  took 
them  to  an  old  man  to  learn  who  and  what  they  were,  “et  ille  senex 
respondens  ait,  Frequenter  hue  venientes  vidi  homines  de  illis  terrm 
partibus  istorum  contribules :  non  querunt  mala,  sed  legem  Deorurn 
adimplere  cupiunt.”  Thus  in  the  Thesaurus ,  etc.,  Canisii;  elsewhere  it 
is  printed  eorum. 


88  FOULQUE  NERRA,  THE  PILGRIM. 

his  arms,  clothed  in  the  shroud  that  marked  him  dead  to 
man  until  his  vow  was  accomplished,  twice  performed  the 
pilgrimage  to  the  Sepulchre,  and  twice  returned  to  the 
far  land  of  France.  You  must  have  heard  the  story  of 
the  lord  of  Anjou.” 

“  Which  of  the  lords  ?  for  there  are  many  on  the  rolls 
of  history.” 

“Foulque  Nerra,  count  and  pilgrim.” 

“No,  never.” 

“Never?  It  is  one  of  the  saddest  and  the  strangest 
stories  on  all  the  records  of  the  pilgrims.*  The  crimes 
he  sought  to  expiate  are,  many  of  them,  unknown,  many 
too  hideous  to  mention. 

“  In  those  old  days  there  was  no  fairer  inheritance  in 
the  land  of  Gaul  than  fell  to  Geoffrey  and  Foulque, 
grandsons  of  the  mighty  Count  of  Anjou.  Nor  was 
there  a  nobler  heart  than  that  of  the  younger  brother  in 
all  of  France.  Geoffrey  wras  gentle  and  very  lovely  in 
disposition ;  Foulque  was  fierce  as  a  lion,  and  as  noble 
too.  Sometimes,  in  your  own  land,  Signor  American, 
you  have  seen  w^omen  whose  beauty  was  so  pre-eminently 
above  that  of  others,  that  you  could,  in  some  measure, 
appreciate  what  men  have  meant  who  talked  of  women 
that  were  angels. 

*  Michaud  and  other  historians  give  the  principal  facts  of  this  curious 
story  as  here  related  by  my  friend,  whose  account  I  have,  in  substance, 
followed.  An  examination  of  the  ancient  chronicles  of  France  leads  me 
to  think  that  Foulques  IV.,  commonly  called  Le  Rechin ,  and  not  his 
grandfather,  Foulques  III.,  known  as  Nerra,  or  Le  Noir,  may  have  been 
the  Count  of  Anjou  who  killed  his  brother  Geoffroi  le  Barbu.  Foul¬ 
ques  Nerra  was  unquestionably  the  count  who  was  thrice  a  pilgrim  to 
the  Holy  Sepulchre,  and  who  died  at  Metz,  a.d.  1040.  Michaud  and 
others  may  have  confused  the  two  counts,  or  it  is  very  possible  that 
other  authorities,  not  within  my  reach,  may  confirm  their  version  of  the 
history.  I  have  not  been  able  to  find  in  America  the  Chronicles  of 
Anjou,  an  examination  of  which  would  settle  the  question. 


FOULQUE  NERRA,  THE  PILGRIM.  89 

“You  smile.  I  am  a  Franciscan  and  a  priest,  but  I 
was  a  layman,  and  I  am  a  man.  I  thank  God  that  I  do 
retain  a  love  of  the  beautiful  wherever  I  find  it,  and  I  am 
not  ashamed  to  admire  one  whom  he  has  made  lovely. 
But  it  is  true  that  I  have  known  days  when  my  heart 
throbbed,  as  I  trust  it  never  will  again,  at  the  presence 
of  a  fair  woman. 

“  Foulque,  the  young  count,  w~as  a  man,  and  when  he 
saw  that  lady  he  was  mad  with  love  of  her.  Their 
first  meeting  was  in  one  of  those  forays  for  which  his  age 
is  better  known  to  history  than  aught  else.  He  had  led 
his  retainers  to  the  sacking  of  a  castle  on  the  banks  of 
the  Rhine,  and  when  the  bloody  fray  w^as  over,  and  he 
was  reeking  from  the  carnage  in  which  his  soul  took  de¬ 
light,  he  was  startled  by  the  vision  of  a  lady,  who  sud¬ 
denly  appeared  in  the  hall  where  he  stood  among  the 
slain.  Her  story  was  brief.  She  was  a  captive  herself, 
released  by  his  arm.  A  wife  indeed,  but  she  knew  not 
if  her  husband  lived.  She  was  the  last  of  her  race,  all 
murdered  by  him  of  whom  the  Count  of  Anjou  had  so 
completely  avenged  her. 

“  To  the  young  count  the  lady  was  like  a  vision  of 
heaven.  He  had  never  seen,  never  dreamed  of  such 
beauty,  such  magnificence.  His  by  right  of  conquest, 
his  because  there  was  no  living  man  to  dispute  his  claim, 
for  neither  he  nor  she  named  her  lord,  and  his  by  her 
own  manifest  will,  for  she  threw  herself  into  his  very 
arms  for  protection  against  his  fierce  retainers  who  had 
opened  her  prison-doors,  what  was  left  for  him  to  do 
but  take  her  to  his  embrace  and  heart  ?  There  was  no 
thought  of  the  curses  of  holy  church  in  those  days  when 
a  soldier  captured  defenceless  women,  nor  was  she  one 
to  remind  him  or  herself  of  the  crime  they  committed. 
She  was  all  passion,  and  I  have  said  she  was  gloriously 
beautiful.  It  were  vain  to  attempt  any  description  of  the 


90  FOULQUE  NEERA,  THE  PILGRIM. 

manner  in  which  she  wound  her  way  into  his  heart,  and 
became  possessed  of  its  most  hidden  springs  of  motion. 
A  thousand  times  men  have  died  for  women  not  half  so 
fair  as  she. 

“  She  demanded  castles  for  presents,  and  he  con¬ 
quered  them.  She  would  have  men’s  heads,  and  he 
brought  them  by  scores ;  she  bade  him  bring  maidens’ 
breasts,  and  he  put  to  shame  the  torturers  of  Holy 
Agatha.  There  was  no  form  of  cruelty,  no  depth  of 
horrible  crime  into  wThich  she  did  not  plunge  him,  and 
yet  he  loved  her  with  a  love  that  grew  on  the  very  hor¬ 
rors  that  her  life  disclosed  ;  and  he  made  her  queen  of  a 
realm  that  trembled  at  the  glance  of  her  brilliant  eye. 

“Patient  and  gentle,  beloved  of  all  his  people,  Geof¬ 
frey,  Count  of  Anjou,  ruled  in  the  old  halls  of  his  father, 
while  his  brother’s  wild  career  was  the  terror  of  all  the 
western  world.  Ever  kind,  the  beloved  father  of  his 
county,  he  was  almost  revered  by  those  who  saw  in  him 
a  noble  and  kind  master,  a  gallant  defender,  and  a  faith¬ 
ful  friend. 

“The  tempter  did  not  long  delay  to  whisper  in  the  ears 
of  Foulque  Nerra  that  he  was  the  most  powerful  of  the 
two,  and  that  it  was  fit  that  his  brother’s  retainers  should 
serve  him.  His  castle — not  his,  but  one  which  he  had 
captured,  having  utterly  erased  from  the  rolls  of  the  living 
every  name  which  could  claim  adverse  title  to  his  own — 
was  not  sufficiently  large  for  the  lands  he  now  ruled,  and 
which  actually  surrounded  his  grandfather’s  ancient 
county,  now  held  by  his  brother,  whose  grand  old  halls 
were  more  fit  for  his  court  and  queen.  The  suggestion 
of  even  this  horrible  crime  did  not  open  his  blind  eyes  to 
the  true  character  of  his  beautiful  destroyer. 

“  The  deed  was  rapidly  planned  and  swiftly  done.  The 
guards  of  the  old  castle  shrank  in  horror  from  the  unnat¬ 
ural  fray,  and  he  obtained  almost  peaceful  possession  of 


FOULQUE  KEEEA,  THE  PILGRIM.  91 

the  towers  of  his  fathers,  even  before  his  brother  woke 
from  sleep,  to  find  himself  a  prisoner. 

“  Geoffrey  died  horribly,  of  woe  and  torture,  in  the 
dungeons  of  the  castle.  The  unnatural  brother  gloried  in 
his  accomplished  crime,  and  crowned  his  mistress,  now 
more  gorgeously  beautiful  than  ever,  in  the  halls  that  had 
always  before  been  honored  among  men. 

“  But  Geoffrey  died  not  unavenged. 

“A  year  swept  on,  and  the  count  woke  one  morning 
in  his  halls,  alone.  His  wife  was  gone,  fled,  with  an  un¬ 
known  servant  of  the  house — a  base  slave — gone,  and  for¬ 
ever  ! 

“  With  her  his  soul  departed.  Black  agony  took  pos¬ 
session  of  him,  and  remorse  indescribable.  It  seemed  as 
if  she  were  his  courage,  his  strength,  his  very  life — for  all 
were  gone,  from  the  very  hour  he  heard  of  her  flight. 

“  Nor  was  that  all.  Geoffrey,  his  murdered  brother, 
was  in  her  place,  and  thenceforth  never  left  him  ;  nor  did 
he  come  alone  to  curse  the  sinful  man,  but  behind  him 
were  all  the  maidens  he  had  outraged  and  butchered,  all 
the  dead  he  had  sent  unshrived  to  God — a  ghastly  train, 
innumerable,  and  of  horror  beyond  description — all  fixing 
on  him  their  pale  wild  faces  of  reproach  and  pain.  He 
could  not  live,  and  God  forbade  him  to  die.  He  wan¬ 
dered,  restless,  up  and  down  his  halls,  with  open  eyes 
fixed  on  the  visions  that  would  not  leave  him.  At  length, 
hopeless  of  relief  elsewhere,  as  was  the  custom  of  the  age 
he  set  out  for  the  Holy  Sepulchre.  They  went  with  him. 
All  the  way  he  saw  his  ghostly  persecutors,  and  they  fol¬ 
lowed  him  to  the  gate  of  Jerusalem,  whereafter  he  saw 
them  no  more.  Drawn  on  a  hurdle,  with  a  rope  around 
his  neck,  through  the  streets  of  the  Holy  City,  he  rent 
the  air  with  his  cry  for  mercy,  4  Ayez  pitie,  Seigneur,  du 
traitre  et  parjure  Foulques  !’ 

“  Once  more  the  mighty  Count  of  Anjou  raised  his 


92  FOULQUE  NERRA,  THE  PILGRIM. 

head,  and,  though  the  cord  of  shame  was  around  his  neck, 
and  he  wore  the  sandals  of  pilgrimage,  nevertheless  the 
pavement  resounded  to  a  firm  tread  as  he  walked  each 
morning  up  to  the  Sepulchre,  and  in  a  voice  more  accus¬ 
tomed  to  the  shout  of  battle,  chanted  his  miserere.  De¬ 
spise  it  as  you  will,  you  Protestants,  there  is  nevertheless 
an  atmosphere  in  Jerusalem,  and  around  the  Sepulchre, 
that  humbles  human  pride,  and  softens  the  heart  of  sinful 
man.  I  will  not  pause  here  to  explain  it,  though  I  think 
I  can  do  so  without  giving  you  cause  to  say  that  I  am  a 
believer  in  the  present  miraculous  efficacy  of  pilgrimage. 

“  His  vows  accomplished,  the  dust  of  the  outer  world 
shaken  off  from  his  feet  and  his  soul,  as  he  entered 
the  gates  of  the  city,  he  knelt  for  the  last  time  at  the 
Sepulchre,  and,  with  a  light  heart  and  calm  conscience, 
mounted  his  steed  on  the  hill  of  Zion,  and  rode  proudly 
homeward. 

“  In  the  fairest  valley  of  Switzerland,  under  the  shadow 
of  the  Jungfrau,  there  was  a  hamlet  through  which  the 
Count  of  Anjou  passed  on  his  journey  to  his  own  castle. 
He  slept  peacefully  in  the  night  now,  and  no  ghosts 
haunted  his  waking  hours.  Peace,  the  peace  that  God 
giveth  the  penitent,  was  on  his  soul,  and  so  he  went  all 
the  way  homeward,  chanting  brave  psalms  or  praying 
aloud. 

“  But  that  evening,  before  he  slept,  he  walked  out  in 
the  village  and  toward  a  castle  that  stood  on  an  emi¬ 
nence  near  by  it ;  and,  as  he  approached  it,  he  saw  a  lady 
slowly  walking  up  the  hill  toward  the  great  gateway. 
There  was  something  in  that  form  that  sent  through  the 
heart  of  the  count  a  thrill  of  such  emotion  as  he  had  long 
been  a  stranger  to,  for  it  was  one  such  as  the  false  prophet 
has  promised  to  the  embraces  of  his  followers  in  Paradise. 
And  as  she  entered  the  gate  and  turned  back,  he  beheld 
his  faithless  mistress,  even  as  she  was  when  he  first  beheld 


FOULQUE  NERRA,  THE  PILGRIM.  93 

her,  beyond  all  words  beautiful,  her  eyes  filled  with  that 
old  enchantment  that  invited  him  to  sin  and  shame. 

“  Overwhelmed  at  first  with  wild  emotions,  he  knew 
not  what  to  do.  But,  as  he  sat  alone  in  his  chamber  that 
night,  his  dim  candle  shining  on  a  fragment  of  the  true 
cross  that  lay  upon  the  table  before  him,  the  only  relic  he 
had  brought  from  Holy  Land,  the  arch-fiend,  in  the  guise 
of  that  fair  lady,  knelt  on  the  other  side  of  the  cross,  and 
with  smiles  and  becks  tempted  him  to  damnation. 

“  Men  said  the  lady  was  not  unwilling,  and  others  that 
her  wails  rang  through  the  village  in  that  midnight  fray 
when  at  the  head  of  his  band  he  bore  her  on  his  saddle 
from  the  castle  down  the  steep  descent  that  led  into  the 
village,  fighting  every  step  with  the  retainers  that  sur¬ 
rounded  their  lord.  But  Satan,  who  had  tempted  him, 
forsook  him  in  the  hour  of  utmost  need.  The  next  night, 
clasped  in  her  white  arms,  he  lay  at  a  village  on  the  bank 
of  the  Rhone,  and  in  the  solemn  hours  of  the  darkness 
once  more  those  ghostly  visitors  surrounded  him,  and 
once  more  he  woke  in  terror  to  see  with  waking  eyes 
more  fearful  visions  than  when  he  slept. 

“  A  band  of  robbers  from  the  Alpine  passes  had  sur¬ 
rounded  his  wearied  troop,  and  though  they  were  brave 
as  lions,  not  one  save  he  and  his  old  squire  escaped  to  re¬ 
member  the  horrors  of  that  night,  in  the  midst  of  which 
she  had  vanished.  In  vain  he  searched  for  her  for  months 
among  those  mountain  gorges,  which  are  now  crowded 
with  pleasure-seeking  travelers.  She  was  lost  to  him,  and 
at  length,  no  longer  praising,  no  longer  chanting,  he  rode 
homeward,  forever  by  day  and  by  night  accompanied  by 
those  ghostly  appearances,  hearing  all  along  the  way  the 
same  sad  voices  of  agony  and  woe. 

“Again  his  sin  had  found  him  out.  Weighed  down 
with  remorse,  and  desirous  to  keep  forever  before  him  the 
memory  of  the  Holy  Cross  and  Tomb,  he  devoted  himself 


/ 


94  FOULQUE  NERRA,  THE  PILGRIM. 

to  erecting  at  Loches,  near  his  own  castle,  a  monastery 
and  church,  wherein  he  deposited  a  piece  of  the  true 
cross,  which  till  late  years  have  been  known  by  the  name 
of  Saint  Sepulchre.  Here  he  wept  and  prayed,  but  wept 
and  prayed  in  vain.  Still  his  brother’s  ghost  haunted 
him.  It  was  in  his  chamber  when  he  would  sleep,  it  sat 
at  table  with  him  when  he  ate,  it  walked,  it  rode  with 
him;  it  laid  its  cold  hand  on  his  bread,  and  his  bread 
mouldered  ;  it  dipped  its  white  finger  in  his  wine,  and 
the  wine  froze  his  heart  when  he  drank  it. 

“Human  nature  could  not  long  abide  this,  and  once 
more,  penitent  and  humble,  he  stood  barefooted  before 
the  gate  of  J erusalem,  and  walked  with  ashes  on  his  head 
and  anguish  in  his  heart  to  the  blessed  tomb  wherein  God 
hath  permitted  man  to  lay  all  his  sin,  and  again  the  ghostly 
followers  of  his  footsteps  left  him  at  the  gate,  and  he  ap¬ 
proached  the  Sepulchre  alone. 

“Of  his  long  vigils,  night  after  night  kneeling  motion¬ 
less  by  the  tomb,  of  his  penances  innumerable,  his  alms 
and  good  deeds,  the  record  remaineth  somewhere.  At 
length,  once  more  relieved  and  pardoned,  as  he  trusted 
(and  so  let  us  trust),  he  departed  for  the  land  of  his  birth 
and  sinful  life,  sailing  from  Jaffa  to  Brundusium  in  Italy. 

“  He  had  scarcely  set  foot  on  the  land,  when  he  heard 
a  story  from  all  men’s  mouths  of  terrible  outrages  and 
wrongs  done  on  the  children  of  our  holy  father  the  Poj)e 
by  a  bandit  who,  inhabiting  the  Apennines,  was  never¬ 
theless  omnipresent  from  the  straits  of  Charybdis  to  the 
Po,  and  of  whose  deeds  no  tongue  could  sufficiently  relate 
the  horror. 

“  The  pilgrimage  had  not  so  changed  his  nature  but 
that  the  sound  of  battle  was  glorious  to  Foulque  Nerra. 
It  reminded  him  of  that  day  when  his  own  arm  had  struck 
down  the  stout  Count  of  Brittany.  He  girded  on  his 
armor  once  more,  and  with  the  trusty  band  of  retainers 


FOULQUE  NERRA,  THE  PILGRIM.  95 

who  had  accompanied  him  to  J erusalem,  penetrated  the 
fastnesses  of  the  Apennines.  His  heart  beat  with  its  old 
fire,  his  hand  was  strong  as  in  youth,  and  his  soul  was  full 
of  daring  and  of  joy,  for  this  was  the  Lord’s  work,  and 
he  fought  in  a  cause  of  which  he  never  before  had  felt 
the  glory.  He  won  the  very  fortress  of  the  chief,  cap¬ 
tured  his  stores  of  treasure,  but  the  man  himself  was  not 
there. 

“  Reposing  after  tho  victory,  sleep  such  as  in  former 
^ears  he  did  not  know,  visited  his  eyes.  But  the  clasp 
of  warm  arms  awoke  him  to  find  himself  in  the  embrace 
of  her  for  whom  he  had  twice  sacrificed  his  soul’s  salva¬ 
tion.  It  was  a  madness  that  possessed  him,  that  he  did 
not  then  and  there  strangle  her  as  he  had  countless 
women  for  her.  But  there  was  a  power  in  her  supreme 
beauty  that  forbade  the  holy  influences  even  of  his  pil¬ 
grimage.  He  opened  his  eyes  to  meet  her  large  brown 
eyes  full  of  delight  and  love,  and  the  sweet  temptation 
once  more  damned  him. 

“In  that  mad  clasp,  the  cross  and  promised  crown,  the 
tomb  and  resurrection  that  he  hoped,  and  had  faith  to 
believe  he  had  won,  were  alike  forgotten,  and  there  was 
joy  in  hell  over  the  sin  of  the  great  Count  of  Anjou. 

“  I  can  not  tell  whence  she  came.  If  her  own  whis¬ 
pered  story  were  true,  she  was  the  captive  of  the  robber 
chief,  since  the  night  she  last  saw  him  in  Switzerland. 
But  it  was  verily  insanity  that  he  did  not  think  strange 
of  her  brilliant  youth  and  unchanged  beauty,  though  he 
had  grown  old  since  he  first  saw  her,  and  that  he  did  not 
recognize  in  that  some  evidence  of  the  presence  of  the  fiend. 

“  He  fell  asleep  with  his  fair  sin  locked  close  in  his 
stout  arms,  and  then,  once  more,  the  pale  face  of  Geoffrey 
de  Barbu  looked  within  the  canopy,  and  the  sleeper  shud¬ 
dered  as  the  vision  of  unutterable  woe  again  possessed 
his  soul. 


96 


FOULQUE  NERRA,  THE  PILGRIM. 

“  He  hurled  her  from  his  embrace,  sprang  to  his  feet, 
and  seized  his  sword  to  plunge  it  in  her  bosom ;  but  she 
was  gone,  and  the  shouts  of  battle  now  rang  around  him. 

“  The  robbers  were  on  him  in  force.  He  rushed  out, 
mad  with  the  ghastly  company  that  kept  close  beside  him, 
and  plunged  into  the  fray. 

“  Right  valiantly  did  Foulque  then  fight.  His  broad¬ 
sword  made  sweeping  circles  of  mangled  dead  along  his 
furious  path.  But  every  flashing  sweep  of  the  sword 
passed  through  the  form  of  his  murdered  brother  who 
would  not  leave  him,  and  every  dead  man  at  his  feet 
cursed  him,  as  he  fell,  with  the  same  look  out  of  his  dying 
eyes. 

“Wounded,  well-nigh  dead,  but  victor  over  his  slain 
foes,  the  Count  of  Anjou  was  carried  to  the  feet  of  the 
holy  Father,  and  there,  hailed  as  the  saviour  of  Italy  in 
a  triumphal  procession,  he  received  full  absolution  of  all 
his  sins  from  the  lips  of  the  grateful  Pope. 

“People  thronged  in  crowds  around  him,  to  see  the 
great  count  who  had  twice  prayed  at  the  Holy  Sepulchre, 
and  with  whose  deeds  of  arms  the  world  resounded.  His 
approach  to  his  own  country  was  an  ovation.  His  re¬ 
tainers  crowded  the  way,  and  the  air  rang  with  the  shouts 
of  welcome  that  hailed  his  return. 

“  But  the  old  count,  for  he  was  old  now,  had  a  stern 
and  unforgiving  conscience,  nor  could  all  the  intervening 
time  shut  out  the  distant  past. 

“  Even  when  the  words  of  pardon  fell  on  his  ears  from 
the  lips  of  the  holy  Father,  he  saw  that  cold,  calm  face 
beside  him,  and  after  that  he  was  no  more  alone,  but  al¬ 
ways  Geoffrey  was  with  him,  clanking  his  chains  to  drown 
the  psalm  in  the  morning  service,  and  with  that  face  of 
woe  scaring  the  pious  visions,  that  he  sought  to  cherish, 
from  his  soul. 

“  Once  more,  weary,  heart-broken,  forever  haunted  by 


FOULQUE  NERRA,  THE  PILGRIM. 


97 


his  spectral  brother,  the  valiant  Count  of  Anjou  went  to 
the  Saviour’s  Sepulchre.  Three  pilgrimages  he  had  ac¬ 
complished,  and  the  third  in  agony  that  he  almost  dared 
compare  to  the  agony  of  his  Lord.  And  once  more,  out 
of  his  exhaustless  fountain  of  love,  the  blessed  Lord  for¬ 
gave  the  sinner’s  crime,  and  he  arose,  and  stood,  and 
walked  a  pardoned  man.  Thrice  damned,  thrice  forgiven, 
thrice  dead,  thrice  raised  to  life,  the  soldier  of  a  hundred 
fields,  the  victor  in  all,  marched  slowly  homeward,  desir¬ 
ing  only  to  die.  He  was  very  old  now.  His  hair  was 
whiter  than  the  snow  of  Lebanon,  but  his  arm  was  strong 
as  of  old.  History  tells  not  what  valiant  deeds  the  old 
man  was  led  to  do,  what  enemies  of  the  cross  he  van¬ 
quished,  what  mighty  valor  was  yet  left  in  that  great 
right  arm. 

“  He  never  reached  his  home.  On  a  lonesome  couch 
in  the  old  town  of  Metz,  the  giant  form  of  the  Count  of 
Anjou  lay  stretched  in  the  weakness  of  dying.  Around 
him  now,  blessed  be  God,  there  were  no  visions  of  wroe, 
but  angels  made  glad  the  road  up  which  his  clear  old  eyes 
gazed.  Once,  ere  he  died,  a  form  of  almost  seraphic 
beauty  passed  across  the  way  and  intercepted  the  light 
of  heaven  that  was  shining  down  it  on  his  brow.  They 
who  stood  around  him  saw  the  shadow.  He  sprang  to 
his  feet,  as  the  fair  form  again  and  for  the  last  time  came 
between  him  and  his  God,  and  now  in  all  her  young  and 
glorious  beauty  he  knew  that  she  was  but  a  fiend,  an  an¬ 
gel,  but  a  fallen  angel,  a  star  lost  out  of  heaven.  How 
he  felt  how  all  his  life  long  he  had  been  tempted  of  a 
devil,  and  in  a  flood  the  old  sad  years  swept  over  all  his 
memory,  as  the  blue  sea  sweeps  over  the  huge  form  of  a 
fast-sinking  vessel,  and  out  of  the  depths  he  cried  to  God 
aloud,  with  his  strong  arms  uplifted  and  his  old  sword 
flashing  once  more  in  his  strong  grasp.  His  voice  rang 
down  the  old  streets  of  Metz,  and  was  heard  bv  the  holv 

5 


* 


98  FOULQUE  NERRA,  THE  PILGRIM. 

men  who  were  praying  at  the  altar  for  the  passing  soul. 
‘Deus  meus,  Deus  meus  non  dereliquisti  me!’  and  the 
sword  fell  clanging  on  the  marble  floor.  So  died  Foulque 
Nerra,  Count  of  Anjou,  thrice  a  pilgrim  to  the  Sepulchre 
of  the  Lord. 

“  His  heart  was  kept  for  many  centuries  at  Metz,  but 
his  body  lay  buried  in  his  church  at  Loches  in  his  own 
county  of  Anjou.” 


r. 


fj o n i) 5  f| b o ti f  ^efusqlehi. 

That  j^art  of  Syria  which  lies  between  the  lower  Jor¬ 
dan  and  the  Mediterranean,  and  which  surrounds  and  in¬ 
cludes  Jerusalem,  may  be  generally  defined  as  a  vast 
assemblage  of  hills  and  intervening  ravines,  scarcely  wide 
enough  in  any  instance  to  be  called  valleys.  There  are, 
occasionally,  tracts  of  elevated  table  land,  but  the  cultiva¬ 
tion  is  chiefly  either  in  the  bottoms  of  the  ravines,  or  on 
the  more  gentle  slopes  of  the  hill-sides  where  the  rains 
of  centuries  have  not  washed  away  the  soil.  On  the  up¬ 
per  parts  of  the  hills,  and  on  their  sides,  everywhere,  the 
bare  rocks  are  visible,  with  scarcely  sufficient  thin  soil 
between  them  to  afford  subsistence  to  the  flocks  of  sheep 
and  goats  which  the  Bedouin  children  lead  from  place  to 
place.  The  curse  of  God  appears  to  rest  on  all  the  coun¬ 
try,  and  the  desolation  of  the  land  of  Israel  could  scarcely 
be  more  total  and  complete. 

It  is  entirely  impossible  that  the  country  around  J eru- 
salem  should  afford  sufficient  products  under  even  the 
most  skillful  cultivation,  to  sustain  a  population  equal  to 
the  present,  if  it  were  not  for  the  simple  habits  of  the  peo¬ 
ple,  and  that  their  few  wants  enable  them  to  preserve  life 
on  food  that  would  starve  a  man  from  western  Europe  or 
America.  If  the  restoration  of  the  Jews  were  effected  at 
this  time  the  entire  provision  of  the  city  would  be  im- 


100 


SITE  OF  JERUSALEM. 


ported  by  Jaffa  and  brought  on  camels  from  the  sea  over 
the  rough  path  I  have  described  in  a  former  chapter,  nor 
would  any  amount  of  industry  succeed  in  restoring  the 
soil  to  the  barren  rocks  that  now  receive  the  sunshine 
which  once  gladdened  the  gardens  of  Canaan.  It  is  in¬ 
deed  a  somewhat  remarkable  fact  that  the  ancient  words 
which  were  used  to  characterize  the  country  should  still 
be  accurately  true,  “a  land  flowing  with  milk  and 
honey.”  The  great  flocks  of  sheep  and  goats  that  are 
on  all  the  hills  afford  to  the  wandering  tribes  and  to 
the  villagers  their  chief  support  in  leben ,  or  soured  milk, 
which  they  eat  morning  and  evening,  while  wild  flowers, 
clinging  in  crevices  of  the  rocks  and  blooming  among 
utter  desolateness  in  grand  profusion  extract  from  that 
ancient  soil  the  delicate  food  of  the  bees,  and  grow  as 
if  only  to  assert  the  former  richness  of  the  Land  of 
Promise. 

These  rugged  hills,  bleak  and  desolate  as  I  have  de¬ 
scribed  them,  are  intersected  by  numerous  gorges  and 
ravines,  which  wind  and  unite  with  each  other,  sloping 
always  downward  to  the  Mediterranean  or  to  the  Dead 
Sea.  The  traveler  from  Jaffa  crosses  the  ridge  of  highest 
land  shortly  before  arriving  at  Jerusalem,  on  the  west  of 
the  city,  and  hence  these  loadys  descend  in  both  direc¬ 
tions.  Indeed,  if  the  ancient  city  extended  as  far  to  the 
northward  as  some  are  disposed  to  think  it  may  have 
reached,  it  is  probable  that  the  drain  of  the  extreme 
north  was  toward  the  Mediterranean,  although  the  entire 
wash  of  the  present  city  runs  toward  the  Dead  Sea. 

No  streams  run  in  these  numberless  wadys.  One,  and 
only  one  spring  of  living  water,  flows  down  the  hill-sides 
around  the  Holy  City.  This  runs  through  Siloam.  It  is 
only  after  severe  rains  that  the  beds  of  the  brooks  are 
filled,  and  their  waters  rush  rapidly  down  the  steep  de¬ 
scents  to  their  respective  destinations. 


SURFACE  DESCRIPTION. 


101 


Jerusalem  stands  one  thousand  three  hundred  feet 
above  the  Mediterranean,  and  three  thousand  nine  hun¬ 
dred  feet  above  the  surface  of  the  Dead  Sea.  From  its 
heights,  eastward,  every  thing  rolls  downward,  so  that 
from  the  top  of  the  Armenian  Convent,  on  Mount  Zion, 
the  view  eastward  is  like  looking  down  into  a  deep,  dark 
basin,  toward  which,  from  all  directions,  the  hills  and  val¬ 
leys  tend. 

If  the  reader  will  accompany  me  a  few  moments,  and 
take  a  position  north-west  of  the  city,  on  the  rising  ground, 
near  the  point  where  I  have  spoken  of  my  first  view  of 
the  city,  I  will  endeavor  to  give  him  a  topographical  idea 
of  the  location  of  the  Holy  City,  which  must  serve  his 
purpose  until  he  can  see  a  model,  or,  better  still,  can  visit 
it  with  his  own  feet  and  eyes. 

The  land  on  which  we  stand  is  sloping  gently  eastward 
and  southward,  as  we  advance  south-east,  continually  de¬ 
scending.  On  our  left,  a  broad  depression  in  the  table 
land  is  visible,  the  bottom  of  which  is  not  more  than  a 
hundred  feet  below  us,  and  this  falls  off  slowly  to  the 
eastward,  and  then  bends  as  it  narrows,  until  its  direction 
is  nearly  north  and  south.  On  the  right,  a  similar  basin 
extends  to  the  southward  from  us,  so  that  we  may  be  said 
to  be  on  a  gentle  undulation  of  the  land,  which  may  be  in 
breadth  a  mile  and  a  half  from  basin  to  basin.  The  de¬ 
pression  on  the  left  continues  to  descend  until  it  reaches 
a  point  east  of  the  north-east  corner  of  the  city  wrall, 
when  it  suddenly  deepens  in  another  basin,  and  that  nar¬ 
rows  into  a  deep  ravine,  descending  rapidly  almost  due 
south. 

The  basin  on  our  right  also  descends,  but  more  slowly, 
passing  the  north-west  corner  of  the  city,  and  now  narrow¬ 
ing  like  the  other,  continues  due  south  some  distance  and 
then  bends  to  the  south-east  in  a  deep  ravine,  and  at 
length  joins  the  one  we  have  described,  on  the  left,  and 


102 


THE  HILLS  AND  VALLEYS. 


the  two  form  one  deej)  gorge  that  goes  plunging  down  to 
the  Dead  Sea. 

On  the  point  of  land  we  have  thus  seen  formed  be¬ 
tween  these  two  water-courses,  stands  the  Holy  City. 

But  yet  another  depression  is  observable,  as  we  ap¬ 
proach  it  from  our  original  position,  commencing  in  the 
centre  of  the  undulation  near  the  north  wall  of  the  city, 
and  descending  gently  through  the  very  middle  of  the 
city  until,  as  it  approaches  the  south,  it  falls  suddenly  and 
deeply  to  the  level  of  the  two  former,  and  thus  divide 
the  point  we  formerly  made  into  a  fork,  of  wThich  the  left 
hand  or  eastern  tine  is  much  longer  than  the  right  or 
western.  These  two  tines  (if  I  may  use  the  homely  illus¬ 
tration)  may  for  the  present  be  understood  as  maintain¬ 
ing  their  level  almost  to  the  very  points  where  by  abrupt 
hills  they  descend  to  the  bottoms  of  the  ravines  which 
inclose  and  form  them.  We  will  call  them  hills  hereafter. 

The  western  hill  is  Mount  Zion,  and  the  eastern  is 
Mount  Moriah.  On  the  former  stood  the  city  of  David, 
and  on  the  latter  the  Temple  of  Solomon.  The  entire  hill 
which  we  are  descending  as  we  approach  the  city,  and 
which  is  the  handle  of  the  fork,  I  suppose  to  be  the  Akra 
of  Josephus. 

The  ravine  which  we  followed  on  the  left  is  known  to 
all  readers  as  the  Y alley  of  J ehoshaphat,  while  that  on  the 
right  is  the  Valley  of  the  Sons  of  Hinn'om,  and  the  inter¬ 
mediate  valley  which  divides  the  hills  is  in  its  lower  part 
the  Tyropoeon  of  Josephus,  but  not  mentioned  by  name 
in  the  sacred  writings. 

Outside  of  these  ravines  are  hills,  the  mountains  that 
are  “  round  about  Jerusalem.”  Behind  us,  on  the  north¬ 
east,  is  the  Mount  Scopus  of  Josephus. 

The  Valley  of  Jehoshaphat  divides  the  city  from  the 
Mount  of  Olives,  which  lies  due  east  of  the  centre  of 
modern  Jerusalem,  and  this  hill  is  separated,  by  a  depres- 


POPULATION  AND  GOVERNMENT. 


103 


sion,  from  the  next  on  the  south  which  is  the  Mountain  of 
Offence.  At  the  foot  of  this,  the  valley  formed  by  the 
united  valleys  runs  to  the  southward,  and  this  part  of  it 
is  supposed  to  be  the  ancient  Gehenna,  the  place  of  sacri¬ 
fice  to  Moloch.  West  of  the  principal  valley,  and  over¬ 
looking  the  point  of  junction,  is  the  Hill  of  Aceldama. 
Rising  still  higher  to  the  south-east  is  the  Hill  of  Evil 
Counsel.  West  of  the  city  are  no  prominent  hills  known 
in  history,  and  it  has  already  been  seen  that  on  the  north¬ 
west  we  approached  the  city  by  a  long,  gradual  slope  of 
the  land.  This  fact  is  important,  and  the  reader  should 
bear  in  mind  that  from  the  north-west  corner  of  the  city 
the  land  steadily  rises  toward  the  north-west,  sweeping 
around  the  basin  of  the  upper  Pool  of  Gihon,  and  there  is 
no  spot  within  miles  where  the  wall  of  the  city  could  have 
been  built  unless  on  this  slope,  so  that  it  is  plain  that  the 
land  outside  was  always  higher  than  the  land  within  the 
walls. 

The  population  of  Jerusalem  is  to  be  gotten  at  only  by 
guess-work.  So  near  as  I  could  ascertain  it,  it  is  made 
up  of  about  seven  thousand  Mohammedans,  five  thousand 
Jews,  and  rather  more  Christians — making  the  total  be¬ 
tween  seventeen  and  twenty  thousand.  Much  of  this 
must  be  mere  guess-work,  however,  and  it  is  not  at  all 
impossible  that  a  census  might  take  four  or  six  thousand 
off  from  this  estimate. 

The  city  is  now  under  the  direct  government  of  the 
sultan,  who  appoints  the  pasha.  During  my  stay  in  Je¬ 
rusalem  this  functionary  was  invisible,  having  gone  to 
Nablous,  where  rumor  said  he  was  obliged  to  remain, 
fearing  an  attack  from  Bedouins  if  he  attempted  to  re¬ 
turn. 

The  city  is  dependent  for  its  supplies  of  water  chiefly 
on  the  rains  of  heaven.  This  subject  has  been  a  fruitful 
source  of  discussion  to  oriental  travelers,  and  it  is  very 


104 


SUPPLIES  OF  WATER. 

certain  that  as  yet  little  progress  lias  been  made  in  ex¬ 
plaining  where  the  immense  population  that  once  inhab¬ 
ited  Jerusalem  obtained  their  supplies  of  this  necessity 
of  life. 

The  upper  Pool  of  Gihon,  in  the  valley  north-west  of 
the  city,  with  its  conduit  running  down  to  the  Birket  el 
Hammam  in  the  city,  near  the  Church  of  the  Holy  Sepul¬ 
chre,  is  the  only  known  supply  on  the  west  side.  There 
are  two  or  three  deep  wells  within  the  city  walls — one  of 
which,  near  the  great  mosk,  has  been  examined  by  several 
persons,  but  it  is  wholly  inadequate  even  to  modern  de¬ 
mands.  The  fountain  of  the  Virgin,  running  into  the 
Pool  of  Siloam,  is  the  only  steady  supply  on  the  east  of 
the  city.  This  is  perennial,  and  was  evidently  highly 
prized  by  the  ancient  inhabitants.  Immense  cisterns 
abound  in  the  city,  and  every  house  has  its  smaller  reser¬ 
voir,  which  supply  the  wants  of  the  scanty  population  of 
these  days.  The  aqueduct  from  Solomon’s  Pool  is  irreg¬ 
ular  in  its  supply,  and  belongs  exclusively  to  the  great 
mosk. 

The  support  of  the  city  is  its  holiness.  Pilgrims  sus¬ 
tain  it  entirely.  In  Easter  week  their  number  is  immense, 
and  all  the  year  round  it  is  considerable.  The  great  con¬ 
vents  supply  them  lodging,  and  they  provide  their  own 
food  from  the  bazaars. 

Mohammedans  and  Christians  alike  regard  the  city  as 
holy.  The  Koran  abounds  in  this  doctrine.  The  mosk 
of  El  Aksa  in  the  temple  inclosure  is  the  third  holy  place 
in  the  Moslem  world,  Mecca  and  Medina  alone  preceding 
it.  The  Moslems  know  Jerusalem  only  by  its  Saracenic 
title,  El  Khuds  (the  holy). 

A  very  good  idea  of  the  description  and  character  of 
its  population  could  be  had  any  morning  from  the  window 
of  our  dining  room,  which  looked  down  into  the  court. 
Here  we  were  accustomed  to  watch  the  group  that  gath- 


GENERAL  ASPECT. 


105 


ered  to  await  our  exit.  There  were  venders  of  rosaries 
and  pearl  shells,  Dead  Sea  stone,  and  similar  curiosities, 
sitting  with  their  wares  before  them ;  boys  with  old  coins 
in  bags  by  the  hundred ;  women  -chaffering  with  Hajji 
Mohammed  about  eggs  and  chickens,  one  or  two  Bedou¬ 
ins  waiting  for  engagements  for  the  Dead  Sea,  a  Jew, 
Mordecai,  whose  business  was  stone-cutting,  another  who 
sold  us  wine,  and  a  half-dozen  muleteers  and  mukarri 
(horse  dealers)  waiting  commands. 

Prominent  among  them  was  always  visible  the  janissary 
of  the  American  agency,  who  was  as  useless  and  as  much 
of  a  nuisance  as  possible,  for  the  purpose  of  extracting 
out  of  us  all  the  fees  he  could,  and  who  would  hang 
around  the  muleteers  a  fortnight  for  a  dollar  at  the  end 
of  it. 

The  general  aspect  of  Jerusalem  is  very  melancholy. 
There  is  no  such  thing  as  cheerfulness  about  it,  even  in  a 
sunny,  spring  day.  It  is  a  mass  of  old  stone  houses,  cold, 
sombre,  and  sad,  presenting  only  blank  walls  to  the  street, 
many  of  them  in  ruins.  Portions  of  the  city  are  gardens, 
or  thickets  of  prickly  pear  and  weeds.  Not  more  than 
one  half  of  the  inclosure  within  the  walls  is  occupied  by 
houses.  The  entire  hill  of  Moriah,  nearly  half  of  Zion, 
and  all  the  valley  between  them,  the  north-eastern  part 
of  the  city,  and  detached  spots  elsewhere,  are  either  open 
courts,  gardens,  or  desolate  and  deserted  places.  Outside 
the  city  walls  there  is  no  habitation,  except  the  buildings 
on  Mount  Zion,  and  a  coffee-shop  near  the  Jaffa  gate. 
The  hermit  who  lives  in  the  Cave  of  Jeremiah  is  the  soli¬ 
tary  exception  on  the  north  and  east  of  the  city,  unless 
there  be  a  monk  regularly  sleeping  in  Gethsemane.  I 
think  there  is  not,  for  I  was  unable  to  obtain  entrance 
early  in  the  mornings,  and  the  attendant  Franciscan  al¬ 
ways  came  away  with  me  in  my  evening  and  starlight 
visits. 

5* 


106 


MEANS  OF  LOCOMOTION. 


The  ways  and  means  of  locomotion  are  various.  No 
wheeled  vehicle  is  known  in  Syria.  The  ways  are  there¬ 
fore  execrable,  and  I  am  compelled  to  add,  the  means 
equally  so.  The  streets  are  narrow,  and  the  pavements, 
many  of  which  date  from  the  Crusades,  if  not  a  much 
earlier  period,  are,  as  one  might  imagine,  out  of  repair. 
Originally  large  square  blocks  of  stone,  they  frequently 
lie  scattered  along  the  street,  the  holes  they  should  oc¬ 
cupy  being  filled  with  mud.  In  some  places  the  street 
has  an  elevated  side-walk  on  each  side,  the  entire  street 
being  perhaps  ten  or  twelve  feet  wide,  of  which  six  or 
eight  feet  is  occupied  by  the  trottoir  for  men,  and  the 
rest  by  the  trottoir  for  camels,  donkeys,  and  horses.  The 
latter,  however,  is  in  such  cases  always  filled  with  in¬ 
tensely  filthy  mud  and  water,  frequently  a  foot  or  eight¬ 
een  inches  deep,  so  that  a  misstep  on  the  slippery  side¬ 
walk  entails  the  risk  of  a  plunge  into  it,  not  to  say  of 
drowning ;  and  in  meeting  animals  or  passing  them  (a 
constant  occurrence),  one  is  necessarily  plentifully  sprink¬ 
led  with  the  mixture. 

I  walked  everywhere  ;  frequently  estimating  a  day’s 
travel  in  and  around  the  city  at  from  ten  to  fifteen  miles. 

For  Miriam  I  procured  a  donkey  immediately  on  arriv¬ 
ing.  But  Jerusalem  donkeys  are  not  to  be  recommended. 
The  first  one  that  I  tried  wTas  so  dainty  of  his  feet  that  he 
always  waited  at  a  mud-hole  till  she  dismounted  and 
walked  around  it,  and  in  the  streets  of  the  city  would 
never  attempt  the  fording  of  the  rivers  of  filth  that  I 
have  described,  but,  waiting  till  she  walked  along  the 
side-walk,  would  follow  her  like  a  dog,  and  stop  at  the 
end  of  the  mud  to  be  remounted.  This  would  not  do  at 
all,  and  I  tried  another.  This  one  had  a  weakness  in  his 
hinder  legs,  manifest  especially  in  climbing  hills  like  the 
Mount  of  Olives,  which  sometimes  resulted  in  their  actu¬ 
ally  giving  out,  and  slipping  the  rider  off  behind — a  prac- 


VIA  DOLOROSA. 


107 


tice  not  consistent  with  her  dignity  or  comfort.  The  last 
one  that  we  got  would  bolt  off  to  the  right  or  left,  seem¬ 
ing  to  have  an  insane  desire  to  mount  impracticable 
places  by  the  road-side,  or  plunge  down  into  all  sorts  of 
holes  and  ditches,  any  thing,  in  fact,  except  to  go  ahead ; 
but  with  Whitely  on  one  side  and  myself  on  the  other, 
armed  with  olive-wood  sticks,  cut  on  the  mountain  (I 
have  mine  yet),  we  succeeded  in  getting  along  after  a 
fashion ;  and  this  was  the  style  of  our  locomotion  in  and 
around  the  Holy  City,  until  we  found  horses  to  suit  us, 
of  which  I  shall  speak  directly. 

It  was  not  strange  that  the  shopkeepers  in  the  bazaars 
soon  became  acquainted  with  us,  and  that  the  venders  of 
relics  about  the  door  of  the  Church  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre, 
who  with  the  crowd  of  importunate  beggars  make  the 
court  a  veritable  den  of  thieves,  learned  to  recognize  our 
party. 

We  lived  in  our  own  hired  house  on  the  Yia  Dolorosa. 
Above  us  the  street  was  arched  over,  and  yet  beyond  this 
was  the  Porta  Judiciara,  the  Arch  of  Judgment.  Many 
of  the  narrow  streets  of  J erusalem,  as  well  as  other  east¬ 
ern  cities,  are  thus  covered  with  the  upper  floors  of  houses 
extending  across  them. 

The  Yia  Dolorosa  is  not  a  street,  but  consists  of  parts  of 
many  streets,  and  a  line  drawn  through  some  houses. 
This  is  the  traditionary  line  of  the  way  which  Christ 
walked  from  the  house  of  Pilate  to  the  place  of  crucifix¬ 
ion.  Parallel  with  the  eastern  part  of  it  is  another  way, 
in  a  narrow  street,  which  is  supposed  to  have  been  tra¬ 
versed  by  the  Yirgin  Mother  at  the  same  time. 

The  Way  of  Grief  commences  in  the  street  which 
leads  up  from  the  gate  of  St.  Stephen,  on  the  east  side  of 
the  city,  at  a  point  near  the  site  of  the  ancient  tower  of 
Antonia,  where  it  is  probable  that  the  Roman  power  in 
Jerusalem  was  concentrated,  and  Pilate  held  his  judgment- 


# 


% 


108  VIA  DOLOROSA. 

hall.  One  of  the  most  tasteful  and  beautiful  chapels  in  Je¬ 
rusalem  (of  the  Flagellation),  stands  on  the  north  side  of 
the  way,  opposite  the  entrance  to  Pilate’s  house.  The 
latter  is  the  present  residence  of  the  Turkish  governor, 
and  opens,  as  did  Antonia,  into  the  temple  inclosure. 

Coming  up  from  Gethsemane  one  evening  I  stopped  a 
few  moments  at  this  chapel,  and  found  an  intelligent 
monk  in  attendance,  with  whom  I  fell  into  conversation, 
and  who  accompanied  me  as  far  as  the  house  of  Antonio, 
along  the  Yia  Dolorosa, 'pointing  out  the  various  places 
of  traditionary  interest.  The  Arch  of  the  Ecce  Homo,  a 
quaint  old  archway,  with  a  room  on  the  top,  covers  the 
street  just  here.  Whether  this  stood  in  the  times  of 
Christ  it  is  at  present  impossible  to  affirm,  but  I  see  no 
reason  to  doubt  it.  The  great  age  is  certain,  both  of  the 
supporting  buttresses  and  the  central  arch.  The  street 
here  runs  between  deep  walls,  which,  as  well  as  the  arch, 
are  of  ancient  times. 

My  companion  affirmed  nothing  of  the  various  places 
which  he  pointed  out.  “  They  say,”  wras  his  constant  re¬ 
mark  ;  and  on  asking  the  evidence,  he  replied,  “  It  is  the 
tradition  :  I  believe  it  on  that ;  I  don’t  know  it  any  other 
way.”  The  reader  will  please  take  it  on  this  authority. 

Close  to  the  arch  is  the  spot  where  Christ  fell  the  first 
time,  and  a  breach  in  the  wTall  made  by  the  beam  of  the 
cross.  Just  here  he  said  “  Salve,  mater,”  to  the  weeping' 
Mary,  and  a  little  further  he  fell  again.  Before  reaching 
the  corner  of  the  street  that  comes  down  from  the  Da¬ 
mascus  gate,  a  slight  bend  in  the  street  takes  place,  on 
the  spot  where  Simon  the  Cyrenian  was  compelled  to 
take  the  cross,  and,  notwithstanding  this  relief,  the  Saviour 
fell  again,  just  at  the  corner. 

As  I  am  speaking  of  this  street,  I  pause  to  remark  that 
the  right  side  of  it  was,  at  the  time  of  my  visit,  remarka¬ 
ble  for  several  ancient  archways  on  which  the  earth  of 


ARCH  OF  THE  ECCE  HOMO. 


HOUSE  OF  VERONICA. 


109 


the  hill  of  Herod’s  palace  (erroneously  so  called),  had 
slidden  down  and  accumulated,  making  them  actually 
subterranean  caverns.  They  stood  up  but  a  little  above 
the  level  of  the  street,  which  is  here  much  filled  up  above 
its  ancient  level,  being  apparently  crypts  or  vaults  under 
some  ancient  building.  The  chambers  were,  of  course, 
dark  and  damp,  the  entrance  to  them  being  a  sharp  de¬ 
scent  of  eight  feet  or  more  from  the  street.  I  mention 
them  here  to  remark  that  they  were  stables  for  all  sorts 
of  animals — camels,  horses,  donkeys,  goats,  and  sheep, 
which  were  driven  down  into  them  night  after  night, 
and,  being  public  to  all,  were  never  out  of  use.  Mr. 
Pierotti,  the  architect  of  the  Terra  Santa,  commenced 
digging  them  away  while  I  was  in  Jerusalem,  to  lay  the 
foundations  of  a  new  Austrian  hospital. 

Turning  the  corner  to  the  left,  we  were  in  the  street 
which  leads  from  the  Damascus  gate  into  the  heart  of  the 
city,  but  continued  in  it  only  a  few  steps.  The  building  on 
the  right  here  is  the  house  of  Lazarus,  w'hile  that  of  Dives 
is  a  little  beyond ;  and,  turning  to  the  right,  again  facing 
westward,  we  pass  our  residence,  in  the  house  of  Anto¬ 
nio,  on  the  left,  and  shortly  after  that  of  Veronica,  who 
came  out  of  it  to  give  the  Saviour  her  handkerchief  to 
wipe  his  brow.  He  returned  it  to  her  with  the  impres¬ 
sion  of  his  countenance  on  the  linen,  and  the  handker¬ 
chief  is  one  of  the  four  great  relics  which  now  occupy  the 
four  balconies  under  the  great  dome  of  St.  Peter’s  at 
Rome. 

Beyond  this  is  the  Arch  of  Judgment,  the  way  now  as¬ 
cending  the  hill  Akra,  and  thence  it  turned  to  the  left, 
some  distance  along  a  street,  and  thence  through  the 
blocks  to  the  Church  of  the  Resurrection,  entering  that 
in  the  Armenian  Chapel  of  the  Cross,  east  of  Calvary. 

The  streets  of  Jerusalem  have  no  names,  and  the 
reader  will,  at  times,  be  puzzled  to  trace  the  traveler’s 


110 


CAVERNS  UNDER  JERUSALEM. 


course  about  the  city.  There  is  no  help  for  this,  since  a 
map  or  plan  without  street  names  is  of  no  general  use, 
and  the  stranger  to  Jerusalem  must  be  content  with  ac¬ 
quiring  a  knowledge  of  the  principal  great  divisions  of 
the  city  and  the  gates.  Of  these,  there  is  one  bn  each 
side  now  in  general  use.  I  shall  call  them  by  their  most 
common  names,  that  on  the  north,  Damascus,  on  the 
east,  St.  Stephen,  on  the  south,  Zion,  and  on  the  west, 
Jaffa.  Beside  these  there  is  a  small  gateway  on  the 
south  side,  open  every  morning  for  the  vegetable  women 
coming  up  from  the  valley  below  the  Pool  of  Siloam,  and 
closed  after  noon.  This  is  by  some  called  the  Dung 
gate,  but  without  authority.  It  is  known  to  the  natives 
as  the  gate  of  the  Moors,  Mograbbin,  and  such  I  shall 
style  it  if  I  have  occasion  to  mention  it. 

Most  visitors  to  Jerusalem  have  mentioned  the  story 
of  vast  caverns  under  the  north-eastern  part  of  the  city, 
but  few  have  found  their  way  into  them,  and  the  state¬ 
ment  is,  by  many,  regarded  as  apocryphal. 

Moses,  servant  in  the  house  of  Antonio,  had,  at  some 

time,  visited  them,  and  volunteered  as  a  guide.  We 

* 

formed  a  party  one  afternoon,  and  sallied  out  of  the 
Damascus  gate,  near  which,  on  the  east,  is  the  entrance 
to  these  subterranean  halls,  which  in  extent,  height,  and 
depth,  surpass  all  that  has  been  hinted  at  concerning 
them. 

I  am  not  aware  that  any  book-writing  travelers  have 
hitherto  found  this  cavern,  and  I  do  not  know  of  any  ex¬ 
tant  description  of  them,  or  theory  about  them. 

Turning  short  to  the  right  as  we  left  the  gate,  and  fol¬ 
lowing  the  city  wall  to  the  point  where  it  crosses  a  high 
precipitous  bluff  of  rock,  we  found  a  small,  dark  hole  un¬ 
der  this  bluff  itself. 

A  remarkable  fact  in  this  locality  seems  to  have  es¬ 
caped  the  notice  of  writers  on  Jerusalem.  The  hill  on 


CAVERNS  UNDER  JERUSALEM. 


Ill 


which  the  north-east  part  of  the  city  stands  terminates 
abruptly  at  the  north  wall,  but  this  is  an  artificial  term¬ 
ination.  I  shall  hereafter  mention  my  reasons  for  sup¬ 
posing  this  hill  to  be  a  part  of  the  Akra  of  Josephus,  and 
I  pause  here  to  remind  the  reader  of  that  historian’s 
statement,  that  Akra  was  cut  down  by  the  Asmoneans  so 
as  to  reduce  its  height.  I  shall  speak  of  this  again  when 
I  discuss  the  topography  of  Josephus. 

This  hill  has  been  cut  in  two  by  a  broad  passage,  some 
hundred  feet  in  width,  running  across  the  hill  from  east 
to  west,  and  leaving  two  high  perpendicular  walls  of 
rock  facing  each  other.  In  the  face  of  the  northern  hill 
is  the  so-called  Cave  of  Jeremiah,  a  manifest  ancient 
quarry,  and  not  a  natural  cavern,  while  in  the  face  of  the 
opposite  or  southern  wall,  over  the  top  of  which  the 
north  w^all  of  the  city  rises,  is  another  quarried  cavern, 
of  extent  and  magnitude  surpassing  the  most  extended 
quarries  which  I  have  seen  in  Egypt  or  in  the  world. 
This  immense  cavern  wTas  formerly  open  to  the  outer 
world  by  an  entrance  not  less  than  two  hundred  feet 
broad,  and  probably  forty  or  fifty  in  height.  .  The  accu¬ 
mulation  of  earth,  in  the  cutting  between  the  hills,  has 
filled  up  this  opening,  so  that  immediately  under  the 
bluff  of  rock  it  is,  in  some  places,  quite  closed  with 
earth,  and,  in  others,  by  a  loose  stone  wall  which  ex¬ 
cludes  visitors,  and  which  gives  to  the  ordinary  passer¬ 
by  the  idea  that  the  wall  of  the  city,  on  this  northern 
declivity,  is  carried  over  a  solid  rock  ledge,  reaching 
down  indefinitely  into  the  ground ;  although  the  fact  is, 
as  I  have  stated,  that  the  wall  passes  over  a  great  arch 
left  in  the  natural  rock. 

Lying  on  my  face,  and  entering,  feet  first,  the  narrow 
hole,  just  large  enough  to  admit  my  body,  I  pushed  my¬ 
self  in  some  six  feet,  and  then  found  my  feet  unsupported, 
so  that,  advancing  slowly,  I  at  length  bent  my  legs  down- 


112 


VAST  EXTENT  OF  CAVERNS. 


ward,  and  with  due  discretion  dropped  into  the  arms  of 
Moses,  who  stood  ready  to  receive  me.  Having  helped 
in  the  other  gentlemen,  and  Rev.  Dr.  Bonar  of  Scotland, 
who  had  joined  us  at  the  Damascus  gate,  we  advanced  a 
few  steps,  when  we  found  ourselves  on  the  edge  of  the 
earth  which  I  have  described  as  filling  up  the  mouth  of 
the  cavern.  It  now  fell  off,  at  the  natural  angle  of  earth 
accumulated  in  such  a  manner,  and  we  planted  our  feet 
in  it,  and  slid  rather  than  walked  down  the  sharp  de¬ 
scent  of  thirty  or  forty  feet,  and  found  ourselves  in  a 
mighty  cavern,  with  a  magnificent  roof  far  over  us,  and 
vast  pillars  of  unhewn  rock  supporting  it. 

Without  pausing  to  describe  our  slow  and  admiring 
passage  through  the  labyrinthine  halls  of  this  cavern,  I 
may  state  the  results  at  which  I  was  able  to  arrive  with¬ 
out  the  aid  of  compass  or  measuring  line. 

Nearly  or  quite  all  that  part  of  Jerusalem  which  lies 
north  of  the  Via  Dolorosa  and  east  of  the  street  of  the 
Damascus  gate,  leading  therefrom  to  the  old  bath  at  the 
corner  of  the  Via  Dolorosa,  stands  on  arches  or  pillars  of 
rock  in  this  subterraneous  cavern.  Moses  assured  us  that 
it  had  an  outlet  somewhere  near  the  Garden  of  Geth- 
semane,  but  this  is  impossible  from  the  nature  of  things, 
and  I  verified  its  impossibility  by  a  strict  examination  of 
the  entire  circumference  of  the  excavation,  finding  every¬ 
where  the  outer  line  of  the  cavern  and  leaving  no  gallery 
unexplored.  The  floor  is  irregular,  often  having  deep  pits 
out  of  which  blocks  of  stone  have  been  taken.  The  total 
descent  in  the  deepest  part  must  be  at  least  a  hundred 
and  fifty  feet. 

There  was  one  deep  excavation,  in  the  white  stone,  the 
deepest  in  the  whole  cavern,  at  the  bottom  of  which  we 
found  the  bones  of  a  skeleton,  the  remains  of  a  man  who 
was  missing  for  many  years  from  his  home  in  the  city, 
and  who  was  at  length  found  here,  where  he  had  evidently 


ORIGIN  OF  THE  CAVERNS. 


113 


fallen  from  the  lofty  side  which  hung  a  hundred  feet  above 
the  pit,  and  where  his  bones  are  still  permitted  to  lie. 

In  one  place,  nearly  under  the  line  of  the  street  of  the 
Damascus  gate,  we  found  water,  clear,  limpid,  and  bright, 
trickling  drop  by  drop  from  the  wall  into  a  sort  of  rock 
basin.  But  I  have  seldom  tasted  a  more  vile  stuff  than 
it  was.  Although  filtered  as  clear  as  crystal,  it  was  the 
wash  of  the  street,  if  not  a  worse  drain  from  above,  and 
in  no  sense  a  living  spring.  That  the  whole  was  a  quarry 
was  amply  evident.  The  unfinished  stone,  the  marks  of 
places  whence  many  had  been  taken,  the  galleries  in  the 
ends  of  which  were  marked  out  the  blocks  to  be  cut,  and 
the  vast  masses  cut  but  never  removed,  all  showed  suffi¬ 
ciently  the  effect  of  the  cutting.  But  date  or  inscrip¬ 
tion  we  looked  in  vain  for,  and  conjecture  is  left  free 
here.  I  wandered  hour  after  hour  through  the  vast  halls, 
seeking  some  evidence  of  their  origin. 

One  thing  to  me  is  very  manifest.  There  has  been  solid 
stone  taken  from  this  excavation  sufficient  to  build  the 
walls  of  Jerusalem  and  the  Temple  of  Solomon.  The  size 
of  many  of  the  stones  taken  from  here  appears  to  be  very 
great.  I  know  no  place  to  which  the  stone  can  have  been 
carried  but  to  these  works,  and  I  know  no  other  quarries 
in  the  neighborhood  from  which  the  great  stone  of  the 
walls  would  seem  to  have  come.  These  two  connected 
ideas  impelled  me  strongly  toward  the  belief  that  this 
was  the  ancient  quarry  whence  the  city  was  built,  and 
when  the  magnitude  of  the  excavation  between  the  two 
opposing  hills,  and  of  this  cavern  is  considered,  it  is,  to 
say  the  least  of  it,  a  difficult  question  to  answer,  what  has 
become  of  the  stone  once  here,  on  any  other  theory  than 
that  I  have  suggested. 

We  remained  in  the  cavern  some  hours,  and  when  we 
came  out  the  sun  was  setting  behind  the  hills  near  Neby 
Samuel,  and  we  strolled  slowly  along  toward  the  Damas- 


114 


OUR  HORSES. 


cus  gate  among  heaps  of  earth  which  hoys  and  donkeys 
were  bringing  out  from  the  excavations  for  the  Austrian 
hospital.  I  picked  up  a  half  dozen  coins  of  the  Roman 
empire  among  this  rubbish,  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  it 
would  pay  an  antiquarian  for  a  careful  sifting. 

Who  can  say  that  the  cavern  which  we  explored  was 
not  the  place  where  the  hammers  rang  on  the  stone, 
which  were  forbidden  to  sound  in  the  silent  growth  of 
the  great  Temple  of  Solomon  ? 

I  have  described  our  ordinary  locomotion.  We  im¬ 
proved  this  after  a  time.  I  knew  very  well  that  gold 
would  not  buy  an  Arabian  mare ;  that  princes  had  tempted 
Bedouins  with  incredible  sums  to  part  with  their  royal 
animals,  but  that  the  blood  of  the  desert  birds  is  not  to 
be  purchased. 

Nevertheless,  with  months  of  travel  on  horseback  be¬ 
fore  us,  it  was  out  of  the  question  to  attempt  it  with  the 
ordinary  horses  of  the  country.  I  was  not  willing  that 
Miriam  should  ride  to  her  grave  on  any  hack  that  an 
ordinary  mukarri  would  furnish  her.  I  had  therefore 
told  Abd-el-Atti,  within  a  few  days  after,  our  arrival  in 
Jerusalem,  to  order  all  the  purchaseable  horses  in  and 
around  the  city  to  be  examined,  and  a  proper  selection 
brought  to  us  for  our  inspection.  The  scene,  when  they 
jDresented  themselves,  was  worth  an  artist’s  presence. 
Seven  of  the  sorriest  sore-backed  animals  that  a  New 
York  omnibus  company’s  stables  could  furnish  would 
have  been  ashamed  to  be  seen  in  company  with  these 
miserable  ghosts  of  horses.  Those  we  had  seen  at  Jalfa 
were  elegant  beasts  in  comparison  with  these. 

“  Are  these  all  that  are  to  be  found  ?” 

“  These  are  the  best  of  them.” 

“  What  in  the  name  of  heaven  are  the  wmrst  ?” 

“  Bismillah !”  and  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders  that  was 
almost  French. 


ARABIAN  HORSES. 


115 


I  shouted  for  Miriam’s  donkey,  and  we  trotted  off  in 
disgust  down  the  Via  Dolorosa  out  of  St.  Stephen’s  gate, 
while  wTe  laughed  at  the  melancholy  end  of  our  plans  of 
purchasing  horses. 

But  further  efforts  on  the  part  of  my  worthy  dragoman 
resulted  more  satisfactorily,  and  in  the  end  we  found  our¬ 
selves  provided  with  the  very  animals  we  wished. 

Whitely’s  brown  horse  was  a  clean-limbed,  active,  and 
strong  beast,  while  Miriam’s  chestnut  was  the  perfection 
of  a  half-blood  Arabian.  Easy,  swift,  intelligent,  and  sure¬ 
footed,  he  went  up  and  down  steep  precipitous  hillsides 
where  I  feared  to  follow  with  my  dark  bay  Mohammed. 

That  same  Mohammed  was  a  magnificent  friend ;  the 
companion  of  scenes  and  adventures  that  will  insure  his 
being  remembered  so  long  as  I  remember  the  Holy 
Land.  He  had  a  devil  in  his  eye  that  I  was  sometimes 
afraid  of,  but  from  the  day  I  first  bestrode  him  he  served 
me  faithfully,  and  no  two  friends  ever  became  more 
thoroughly  attached  to  each  other  than  did  I  and  the  bay 
steed  Mohammed. 

We  had  an  excellent  mount,  altogether.  Our  horses 
wefe  not  of  pure  Arab  blood.  In  this  connection  a  few 
remarks  may  not  be  ill-timed  on  the  subject  of  Arabian 
horses,  to  which  my  attention  was  drawn  by  this  and  by 
former  incidents  in  my  journey. 

There  is  but  little  Arab  blood  in  any  horses  out  of  the 
Arabian  country.  Among  the  Bedouins  themselves,  it  is 
so  rare  and  valuable  that  the  remark  is  literally  true,  in 
genera],  that  gold  will  not  buy  a  mare  of  pure  blood. 

The  attachment  of  the  Bedouin  to  his  mare,  however,  is 
not  that  affection  which  lias  been  so  frequently  the  sub¬ 
ject  of  poetry  and  prose.  On  the  contrary,  there  is  no 
sort  of  affection  existing  on  the  side  of  the  man,  and  the 
beast  receives  only  just  so  much  care  and  attention  as 
will  insure  her  against  illness  and  death.  Seldom  cov- 


116 


ARABIAN  HORSES. 


ered  and  never  housed,  it  is  often  a  subject  of  the  utmost 
astonishment  that  the  Arab  horses  do  not  perish  from  ex¬ 
posure.  But  for  their  incredible  powers  of  endurance, 
they  would  undoubtedly  do  so.  After  a  long  day’s  jour¬ 
ney,  or  a  sharp  ride  of  hours  over  precipitous  paths,  with¬ 
out  food  or  water  on  the  way  or  at  the  halt,  the  horse  is 
left  standing  in  the  air,  the  saddle  is  not  removed,  being 
a  substitute  for  clothing,  as  well  as  a  preservative  against 
sharp  stones  if  she  rolls,  and  while  the  rider  lies  under 
the  shelter  of  his  black  tent,  or  on  the  ground  wrapped 
in  his  boornoose,  the  steed  shivers  in  the  desert  starlight ; 
but  she  is  no  less  ready  for  the  road  in  the  morning. 
Thus,  day  after  day,  enduring  deprivation  of  water  with 
almost  the  ability  of  a  camel,  the  horse  travels,  and,  if 
wounded,  endures  the  pain  and  fever  of  the  wound  until 
actually  exhausted ;  so  that,  frequently,  a  wound  that 
would  lay  up  any  other  animal,  and  that  almost  hopelessly, 
is  disregarded  by  both  horse  and  rider,  until  the  end  of  a 
long  forced  march,  when  the  steed,  her  work  accom¬ 
plished, "sinks  under  the  pain  and  exhaustion  consequent 
on  the  long  suffering. 

I  have  used  the  female  pronoun  always,  because*  as 
almost  every  one  knows,  the  Arabs  prefer  the  mare  to 
the  horse,  and  this  I  believe  on  account  of  the  superior 
powers  of  endurance  of  the  former. 

The  khamsa  (five)  breeds  of  Arab  horses  are  renowned 
in  the  world.  But  it  would  puzzle  any  one  in  this  day  to 
name  them  or  tell  their  origin.  The  favorite  tradition  is, 
that  they  are  descended  from  the  five  mares  of  the  Prophet 
Mohammed,  and  that  these  came  originally  from  one  coim 
mon  stock,  to  wit,  the  Kohailah. 

Bedouins  from  the  Hejaz  give  the  names  of  the  breeds 
as  follows :  the  Tauaise,  Mannikia  Yulfa,  Saklawee,  and 
Kohailah ;  while  the  Annazee  tribes,  east  and  south  of 
Damascus,  wTho  are  much  better  informed,  and  from 


FINEST  BREEDS. 


117 


whom  the  finest  horses  are  obtained,  say  that  the  Mer- 
joub,  Mannikia  Hedredji,  Obeyan  Sherakh,  and  Hedba, 
are  the  original  khamsa.  Other  tribes  omit  one  or  two  of 
these,  and  substitute  others. 

There  are  numerous  lines  of  mares  derived  from  these  ; 
the  Arabs  tracing  the  genealogy  by  the  mother,  and  not, 
as  we  do,  by  the  sire,  while  there  are  thousands  of  crosses 
with  common  breeds  that  are  of  no  special  value  or  im¬ 
portance. 

The  value  of  an  Arab  mare  is  literally  not  to  be  esti¬ 
mated  in  gold,  since  no  amount  of  money  will  effect  the 
purchase  of  one  of  the  pure  blood.  This  fact  arises  from 
causes  that  are  manifest  to  one  who  knows  the  Bedouins. 
In  the  first  place,  money  is  of  no  use  to  an  Arab.  He 
needs  very  little  for  his  ordinary  purposes,  and  more 
would  be  an  incumbrance — to  be  buried,  given  away,  or 
lost.  His  mare  is  his  life.  With  her  he  is  free  to  travel 
on  the  desert,  to  fight  or  fly,  to  rob  his  legitimate  enemies 
and  protect  his  friends.  If  he  should  exchange  his  mare 
for  gold  he  would  be  a  fair  subject  of  plunder,  without 
the  means  of  defence  or  escape,  and  having  no  home, 
would  be  at  a  loss  to  bury  his  treasure  where  it  would  be 
of  practical  use  to  him.  In  my  work  on  Egypt  (page 
236)  I  have  related  an  anecdote  illustrative  of  these  facts. 

The  finest  breeds  of  horses  are  to  be  found  among  the 
Annazee  and  Shaumar  tribes  east  and  south-east  of  Da¬ 
mascus,  extending  quite  to  the  Euphrates.  But  it  is 
only  by  accident  that  an  Arab  horse  of  pure  blood  is  ever 
obtained  from  among  them,  so  that  out  of  hundreds  of 
horses  imported  to  England  and  America  as  Arabian  it  is 
not  probable  that  until  within  the  last  year  one  horse  of 
pure  blood  was  ever  brought  into  either  country. 

I  met  a  gentleman  in  various  parts  of  Syria,  who  was 
from  New  Orleans,  and  whose  object  in  visiting  the  East 
was  to  obtain  these  animals.  He  had  by  a  fortunate  oc- 


118 


ARABIAN  HORSES. 


currence  obtained  one  mare,  a  noble  animal,  and  when  I 
last  heard  of  him  he  was  about  to  go  down  among  the 
Annazee  to  look  for  others. 

I  have  already  remarked  that  gold  will  not  buy  an 
Arab  mare.  The  inferior  horses,  not  of  high  blood,  are 
always  for  sale,  and  bring  prices,  in  the  desert,  varying 
from  $150  to  $750.  The  color  of  the  Arab  horses  varies, 
but  is  most  frequently  white  or  light  chestnut.  They 
are  not  large,  rarely  above  15  hands  high,  and  while  at 
rest  none  but  an  experienced  horseman  would  observe 
their  points.  But  when  in  full  motion  they  are  glorious 
animals.  “  A  high  bred  mare  should  hide  her  rider  be¬ 
tween  her  head  and  tail,”  saith  the  Koran,  for  the  Koran 
is  not  silent  on  the  subject  of  horses,  and  many  of  these 
animals  nearly  perform  this  duty.  I  had  no  expectation 
of  purchasing  one  of  these  mares,  and  was,  therefore, 
content  with  two  fine  animals  of  a  low  breed,  possessing 
the  qualities  which  I  most  desired  for  the  road,  gentle¬ 
ness  and  sound  health. 

Once  only  had  I  any  fault  to  find  with  the  bay  horse 
Mohammed,  and  this  was  but  a  trifle,  for  when  I  was  riding, 
half  asleep,  over  the  plain  of  Esdraelon  he  lay  down  on 
the  ground  very  quietly,  so  that  I  found  myself  standing 
when  I  was  a  moment  before  sitting. 

The  chestnut  never  stumbled  with  Miriam  but  twice. 
Riding  into  the  gate  of  Damascus  he  made  a  misstep  on 
the  pavement,  a  pavement  that  would  have  excused  any 
horse  for  a  misstep,  and  fell,  luckily  not  harming  his 
mistress,  who  did  not  lose  her  seat.  He  threw  her  down 
in  the  mud  of  the  great  plain  of  Baalbec,  in  a  terrible 
storm,  when  death  on  the  dismal  wild  was  before  us,  and 
we  were  pressing  on  for  dear  life  to  some  shelter.  Of 
that  I  shall  speak  hereafter. 


8. 

M0H9I),  Silo^hi,  Ziot),  Cqlbqfjj. 

If  I  possessed  a  veritable  portion  of  the  dust  that  once 
was  the  right  arm  of  Peter,  or  of  Paul,  I  should  be 
strongly  tempted  “  to  burn  a  fragrant  lamp”  before  it. 
But  since  this  might  not  be,  Miriam  has,  all  through  our 
travels  there,  gathered  flowers  that  have  grown  from  the 
holy  soil,  and  whose  petals  were  once,  perhaps,  the  dust 
in  the  red  cheeks  of  the  Magdalen  or  the  pale  calm  face 
of  Martha. 

I  had  scared  up  an  old  Jew,  Mordeceai  by  name,  who 
had  considerable  skill  in  carving  stone  into  various 
shapes,  and  having,  in  my  wanderings  about  the  city,  re¬ 
peatedly  seen  fine  pieces  of  marble  and  antique  stones, 
we  thought  it  desirable  to  collect  some  of  these  and  have 
them  cut  into  paper-weights  and  other  shapes,  for  pres¬ 
ervation. 

In  the  wall  that  bounds  the  temple  inclosure  on  the  east, 
and  which  overhangs  the  valley  of  Jehoshaphat,  there  are 
built  many  pieces  of  columns,  laid  on  the  wall  with  the 
round  ends  projecting  like  cannon  and  built  in  as  the  wall 
was  laid  up.  Three  of  these  are  side  by  side  not  far  from 
the  tower  and  projection,  known  as  the  Golden  gate,  and 
from  their  character  and  location  there  is  no  reason  to 
doubt  that  they  formed  a  portion  of  the  walls  of  the  temple. 
The  commonly-received  idea  is  that  they  were  columns 


120 


MOUNT  MORIAH. 


of  the  gate  which  was  called  Beautiful.  Travelers  have 
hammered  at  these  until  the  ends  are  mere  projecting 
globes,  and  without  hammer  and  chisel  it  is  impossible  now 
to  procure  pieces.  The  Vandalism  that  thus  destroys  rel¬ 
ics  of  the  ancient  days  none  can  more  thoroughly  detest 
and  condemn  than  do  I — but  where  I  find  such  antiques 
fast  disappearing  before  the  hands  of  the  Vandals,  I  am  not 
so  foolish  as  to  refuse  to  take  what  I  can,  and  I  therefore 
borrowed  a  hammer  and  chisel  of  Antonio,  and  went  out 
one  morning  and  scaled  off  some  pieces  of  them  for  a 
memorial.  One  column  is  a  very  fine  porphyry  and  the 
other  two  are  verde  antique. 

The  Mohammedan  women,  who  sat  on  tombs  around  us, 
looked  up,  as  the  sharp  sound  of  the  hammer  and  chisel 
awoke  the  silence  that  always  lies  with  the  sunshine  on 
the  valley  of  Jehoshaphat,  but  cursed  us  without  moving 
toward  us.  Three  or  four  wandering  Arabs  looked  on 
from  a  little  distance  and  seemed  to  wonder  whether  we 
were  attempting  to  break  a  way  into  the  great  inclosure 
of  the  mosk,  but  no  one  interfered  with  us.  I  found  one 
course  best  everywhere  in  the  East.  It  was  to  do  what¬ 
ever  I  had  occasion  to  do  as  if  I  had  a  right  so  to 
act,  and  no  one  would  dream  of  interfering.  On  this  prin¬ 
ciple  I  made  thorough  examinations  of  many  jfiaces  or¬ 
dinarily  supposed  to  be  inaccessible,  inasmuch  as  the 
Moslems  took  it  for  granted  that  I  had  full  right  to  look, 
measure,  dig,  or  do  as  I  pleased. 

Beyond  this  place,  on  the  slope  of  Mount  Moriah,  where, 
since  the  fall  of  Jerusalem,  the  hill  has  been  a  mass  of 
broken  stone  and  earth,  the  ruins  of  the  glorious  buildings 
that  once  crowned  the  summit,  we  frequently  loitered ; 
and  this  day  longer  than  usual,  selecting  pieces  of  colored 
marble,  porphyry,  and  other  stone,  which  to  have  pol¬ 
ished  by  Mordecai  for  the  purposes  I  have  mentioned. 
After  this,  when  within  the  inclosure  of  the  great  mosk, 


POOL  OF  S1LOAM. 


121 


I  found  other  pieces  lying  on  the  ground,  scattered  here 
and  there,  as  they  have  lain  in  the  earth  for  centuries. 

Passing  down  into  the  valley,  I  now  sought  out  the 
fountain  of  the  Virgin  in  a  deep  excavation  under  the 
pile  of  rubbish,  which  you  reach  by  a  descending  flight 
of  steps  through  an  arched  passage,  and  of  which  the  pe¬ 
culiarity  is  a  regular  increase  and  diminution  in  the  flow 
of  the  water,  which  some  have  taken  to  be  an  indication 
that  this  is  the  Pool  of  Betliesda  which  an  angel  disturbed. 
I  see  no  evidence  of  this.  Of  the  antiquity  of  the  fountain 
there  can  be  no  doubt,  since  Dr.  Robinson’s  wonderful  ex¬ 
ploration  of  the  subterranean  channel,  connecting  it  with 
the  Pool  of  Siloam.  This  channel  passes  under  the  hill, 
called  by  Josephus  Ophla,  the  southern  extremity  of 
Mount  Moriah. 

Following  down  the  valley  of  Jehoshaphat,  turning 
around  the  point  of  the  hill  Moriah,  and  coming  a  little 
way  up  the  valley  between  it  and  Zion,  I  found  myself 
standing  by  the  Pool  of  Siloam,  and  descending  into  it, 
we  bathed  our  eyes  in  its  soft  waters.  The  pool  is  an  ex¬ 
cavation  about  fifty  feet  long  by  twenty  wide,  and  as 
many  deep,  walled  up  with  stone,  and  having  several  col¬ 
umns  lying  in  and  around  it,  as  if  they  once  supported  an 
ornamental  building.  The  subterranean  passage  from  the 
fountain  of  the  Virgin  enters  the  upper  end  of  it,  which 
is  dug  in  the  side  of  the  hill  Ophla.  There  was  about 
two  feet  depth  of  water  in  the  pool.  It  ran  out  below 
into  a  canal,  cut  in  the  rocky  point  of  Ophla,  around 
which  it  flowed,  with  a  musical  gurgle  not  often  heard 
about  Jerusalem,  and  watered  the  gardens  in  the  valley  of 
Jehoshaphat,  where  it  was  quite  lost. 

In  regard  to  the  antiquity  and  genuineness  of  this  pool 
there  is  no  doubt,  inasmuch  as  Josephus  locates  it  at  the 
extremity  of  the  valley  of  the  Tyropceon,  where  we  now 
find  it.  The  early  fathers,  and  all  history,  have  contin- 

•  G 


122 


MOUNT  ZION. 


ued  to  call  it  by  the  name  first  used  by  Isaiah,  and  the 
termination  of  the  rock-hewn  aqueduct,  which  Robinson 
so  perseveringly  and  successfully  explored,  is  sufficient 
evidence  of  the  precise  location. 

Not  far  below  this  pool,  is  an  old  tree,  which  was  old 
three  hundred  years  ago,  and  is  said  to  mark  the  spot  of 
the  martyrdom  of  Isaiah. 

Turning  up  the  valley  of  the  Tyropoeon,  by  a  road 
that  can  be  likened  to  nothing  out  of  Syria,  while  the 
loose  stone  lay  a  foot  deep  in  the  path  and  rolled  under 
our  feet  at  every  step,  we  crossed  the  valley  near  the 
Gate  of  the  Mograbbin,  and  followed  up  the  road  directly 
under  the  south  wall  of  the  city  to  Mount  Zion. 

Outside  the  walls,  Mount  Zion  is  occupied  by  the 
Christian  burial-places  and  a  small  collection  of  houses, 
one  of  which  is  a  mosk,  and  the  seat  of  curious  traditions. 

The  basement  of  the  mosk  is  generally  unaccessible  to 
Christians,  and  is  said  to  contain  the  tomb  of  David. 
Many  Christians  have  entered  it,  and  say  that  there  is 
nothing  to  be  seen  in  it  worthy  of  description. 

We  paused  for  a  few  moments  at  the  grave  of  Cornelius 
Bradford,  an  American  who  died  in  Jerusalem,  and  lies 
buried  among  the  Latins,  on  the  hill.  Turning  then 
toward  the  houses,  we  observed,  on  the  western  side  of 
them,  some  women  kneeling  and  kissing  a  stone  wall,  and 
weeping  bitterly.  I  did  not  then  know,  as  I  afterward 
learned,  that  this  was  a  traditionary  site  of  the  house  of 
Mary,  the  Virgin  Mother,  and  the  place  where  she  died. 
Beyond  it  was  the  spot  now  known  as  the  Coenaculum. 

This  building,  said  to  contain  the  tomb  of  David,  and 
also  the  room  in  which  Christ  instituted  the  Last  Supper, 
is  one  of  the  oldest  in  Jerusalem,  and  deserving  of  much 
more  regard  than  it  has  yet  received. 

Cyril  mentions  a  building  on  this  spot  where  the  apos¬ 
tles  were  said  to  have  been  assembled  on  the  day  of 


s 


123 


TOMB  OF  DAVID. 

Pentecost,  and  this  may  be  the  building  to  which  he  re¬ 
fers.  Later  than  that  it  was  called  the  Coenaculuin,  and 
said  to  contain  the  pillar  to  which  Christ  was  bound  when 
he  was  scourged.  This  pillar  is  now  shown  in  a  building 
near  by.  The  story  of  the  tomb  of  David  is  probably 
of  Mohammedan  origin. 

The  reader  who  has  consulted  Benjamin  of  Tudela,  will 
remember  the  strange  story  told  him  by  Rabbi  Abraham 
of  certain  Jewish  workmen,  on  Mount  Zion,  digging  for 
the  governor,  who  opened  a  vast  hall  of  magnificent  pro¬ 
portions  and  decorations,  containing  the  tombs  of  David 
and  Solomon,  with  all  their  riches.  A  voice  of  thunder 
and  a  storm  of  wind  drove  them  back  from  entering  it, 
and  it  was  closed  up  and  never  reopened.  This  fable  is 
in  keeping  with  a  tradition  still  held  by  the  Jews  of  Je¬ 
rusalem,  that  the  tomb  of  David  is  on  Mount  Zion,  and 
that  his  coffin  is  unapproachable  for  the  glory  that  sur¬ 
rounds  it.  The  belief  that  David  himself  is  the  Messiah 
who  is  to  come  and  reign,  of  course  adds  to  their  faith  in 
this  tradition.  Many  of  them  believe  that  this  building, 
of  which  I  now  speak,  covers  his  tomb,  a  belief  not  a  little 
encouraged  by  the  fact  that  the  Moslems  forbid  their  ap¬ 
proach  to  it,  and  they  are  totally  ignorant  of  its  contents. 

We  found  an  imp  of  blackness  in  attendance  to  prevent 
our  descending  into  the  lower  part  of  the  building,  but 
we  had  free  right  to  look  at  the  large  upper  room,  called 
the  place  where  Christ  celebrated  that  last  sad  ceremony. 
It  is  a  large,  cold  room,  dingy  and  melancholy,  with  no 
furniture  ;  having  a  mihrab,  or  niche,  in  the  south  side,  to 
direct  the  faithful  toward  Mecca,  and  another  on  the 
east,  around  which  the  Christians  sometimes  assemble 
for  worship. 

Rear  the  Zion  gate  we  entered  a  large  isolated  build¬ 
ing,  which  is  an  Armenian  convent,  and  interesting  only 
as  containing  in  its  court-yard  the  tombs  and  monuments 


124 


AMERICAN  JEWS’  HOSPITAL. 


of  the  Armenian  patriarchs  ancl  bishops  of  Jerusalem. 
Within  a  little  chapel,  a  rock,  which  is  built  into  the  altar, 
is  called  the  stone  that  closed  the  Sepulchre  of  the  Lord. 
They  also  pointed  out  to  us  the  spot  where  Peter  stood 
when  the  cock  crew,  or  where  the  cock  stood  when  he 
(the  cock)  crew,  I  am  not  now  quite  certain  which — and 
showed  us  a  pillar,  which  claims  to  be  the  pillar  to  which 
Christ  was  bound  for  flagellation,  in  opposition  to  one  in 
possession  of  the  Latins  in  the  Chapel  of  the  Apparition, 
and  sundry  other  relics  which  are  probably  of  quite  mod¬ 
ern  origin. 

It  had  been  my  intention  to  return  to  the  house  from 
this  place,  but  I  wished  to  linger  awhile  among  the  tombs 
on  the  hill;  and  accordingly,  sending  Betuni  for  our 
horses  and  luncheon-,  we  came  out  of  the  convent  and 
sat  down  on  the  western  edge  of  the  hill  of  Zion,  look¬ 
ing  down  at  the  lower  Pool  of  Gilion,  where  tradition 
says  David  saw  Bathsheba  bathing,  and  across  the  valley 
at  the  new  works  going  on  for  the  building  of  a  great 
Jewish  hospital.  The  credit  of  this  work  is  due  to  Ameri¬ 
can  Jews,  and  especially  to  the  late  Mr.  Touro  of  New 
Orleans ;  but  as  Sir  Moses  Montefiore  is  the  agent  of  the 
disbursement  of  the  money,  the  fact  that  it  is  an  American 
work  is  entirely  concealed  from  travelers,  and  not  even 
the  resident  English  missionaries  to  the  Jews  appeared  to 
be  informed  on  the  subject.  In  conversation  they  always 
spoke  of  it  as  “  Sir  Moses’s  new  hospital,”  and  it  was  only 
by  an  accident  that  I  learned  what  it  really  was. 

On  the  arrival  of  the  horses,  we  rode  up  the  valley  of 
Gihon  to  the  upper  pool,  a  large  square  pool,  walled  up 
with  stone  on  its  four  sides,  doubtless  ancient,  which  lies 
north-west  of  the  city,  and  was  now  about  half  full  of 
muddy  water.  Hence,  striking  across  the  ridge  to  the 
Jaffa  road,  we  devoted  the  afternoon  to  tracing  out  the 
line  of  the  ancient  third  wall,  and  then  to  a  long,  invigor- 


JERUSALEM  OF  OLD. 


125 


ating  gallop  down  the  valley  of  the  Terebinth,  whence, 
in  the  twilight,  we  found  our  way  back  to  the  Jaffa  road, 
and  approached  the  walls  of  the  city. 

Jerusalem  is  inclosed  in  high  and  stately  walls.  I 
know  no  more  reverend  scene  than  it  presents  to  one 
approaching  its  closed  gates  at  night,  for  then  it  seems 
like  the  Jerusalem  of  old  times,  a  spectral  city,  to  whose 
mighty  heart  he  demands  admission. 

Darkness  had  settled  on  all  the  land  as  we  now  ap¬ 
proached  the  north-west  corner  of  the  walls.  Doubtless, 
in  old  times  as  now,  the  closed  gates  shut  in  the  inhabit¬ 
ants,  and  without  all  was  calm  and  still  in  the  hush  of  the 
night.  It  was  an  involuntary  imagination  that  then  and 
there  made  me  for  an  instant  forget  that  I  was  a  cold 
modern  man,  of  these  faithless  latter  years. 

I  was  a  traveler  approaching  the  Holy  City,  in  the  day 
of  its  great  glory.  Those  dim  lights  here  and  there, 
faintly  visible,  marked  the  spot,  and  yonder,  indistinctly 
above  the  dark  mass,  I  saw  the  towers  and  battlements 
of  the  temple.  A  silence,  profound  as  that  of  death,  ex¬ 
cept  when  broken  by  the  wail  of  a  dog  that  lay  outside 
the  gates,  reigned  everywhere.  Within  were  the  throb¬ 
bing  hearts  of  thousands,  and  men’s  souls  were  moved  as 
never  before  since  God  made  man.  For  in  the  afternoon 
there  had  been  sudden  darkness,  when  it  should  have 
been  broad  sunshine  in  Jerusalem,  and  men  had  met, 
walking  in  the  gloomy  streets,  the  dead  men  of  other 
days — the  men  whom  they  had  wronged,  and  whose 
graves  they  had  believed  contained  under  eternal  seal  the 
stories  they  now  heard  hissed  from  their  thin  and  shriveled 
lips,  along  the  marts  they  once  frequented.  There  had 
been,  too,  on  the  outer  side  of  those  walls  a  scene,  the 
like  of  which  had  not  been  known  in  all  the  history  of 
the  sons  of  Jacob.  One  of  their  fellow-men,  the  son  of  a 
poor  carpenter  in  a  remote  village,  who  had  from  time  to 


126 


JERUSALEM  OF  OLD. 


time  startled  their  ears  with  words  of  sublime  import  in 
the  temple,  had,  by  the  influence  of  the  chief  priests  and 
others,  been  seized,  tried,  and  summarily  condemned  to 
death,  and  in  the  very  hour  of  his  condemnation  led  out 
of  the  walls  and  crucified. 

Such  scenes  were  indeed  not  uncommon,  but  there 
were  circumstances  attending  this  which  made  it  of  ex¬ 
traordinary  interest.  For  those  who  were  present  related 
that,  when  in  the  agonies  of  death,  he  had  cried  with  a 
loud  voice ;  that  then  there  was  the  earthquake  winch' 
all  had  felt,  and  then  the  profane  gaze  of  the  multitude 
penetrated  to  the  holy  of  holies  of  the  temple,  thence¬ 
forth  no  longer  sacred,  but  now  forever  common  ;  and 
then  the  dead  arose,  as  if  to  signify  that  his  death  had 
power  to  give  life  to  man.  All  Jerusalem  rang  with  the 
startling  story.  Men  talked  of  it,  as  it  was  said  the  com¬ 
mander  of  the  Homan  guard  had  talked,  saying  that  cer¬ 
tainly  this  was  a  just  man,  certainly  a  Son  of  God. 

But  within  a  secret  place  in  the  city  there  were  gath¬ 
ered  a  few,  men  and  women,  humble  and  unknown 
among  their  fellow-men,  whose  names  were  destined 
to  go  down  the  rolls  of  time,  and  to  be  forever  on  the 
lips  of  men  in  eternity.  Of  the  agony  and  pain  of  those 
sorrowing  hearts  no  human  hand  can  paint  the  im¬ 
mensity.  Each  sound  in  the  street  startles  them — each 
passing  footfall  sends  a  shudder  of  fear  through  every 
frame ;  and  yet  with  intensest  interest  they  crowd 
around  and  hang  upon  the  lips  of  Mary  of  Magdala, 
who  relates  how  the  cold  hands  lay  passive  as  she  wrapt 
them  in  the  clothes,  hovr  the  weary  feet  were  done  with 
long,  sore  travel,  and  she  bound  them  up  in  fragrant 
linen,  what  divine  lustre,  what  a  smile  of  glorious  hope 
rested  on  that  ineffable  countenance  when  they  hid  it 
away,  and  lifted  him  for  the  Sabbath  rest  to  his  rocky 
couch  in  the  garden  sepulchre.  Alas,  that  he  who  had 


JERUSALEM  OF  OLD. 


m 


not  where  to  lay  his  head,  at  length  had  foutid  a  pillow 
of  rock  for  everlasting  repose. 

I  looked  up  at  the  walls  as  I  approached  them,  hut  the 
warder  had  left  his  station,  and  in  the  tower  below  was 
talking  with  his  fellows  of  the  day’s  scenes,  and  of  his 
own  emotion  when  he  thrust  his  spear  into  the  side  of  the 
dead  victim.  And  then  my  eyes  swept  down  the  gloomy 
shadows  east  and  west,  and  I  saw  one  spot  where  there 
was  the  darkness  as  of  a  clump  of  trees,  and  I  knew 
that  within  it,  in  the  rocky  ledge  that  ran  near  there, 
was  a  tomb,  but  the  door  was  closed  with  a  great  stone, 
and  a  guard  sat  near  it,  and  one  with  another  wondered 
who  he  was  that  lay  within  cold,  and  pale,  and  dead, 
nor  did  the  crowding  myriads  of  angels  make  themselves 
visible  to  men,  but  gloom,  and  silence,  and  profound 
repose  were  around  the  sepulchre. 

The  scene  was  visible  before  me.  This  was  the  Jeru¬ 
salem,  changed  indeed,  but  still  Jerusalem  of  the  moun¬ 
tains,  Jerusalem  of  the  sons  of  Israel,  of  the  disciples  of 
the  Lord. 

The  vision  swept  by  me  as  we  advanced  at  a  gallop 
down  the  slope  to  the  Damascus  gate,  and  made  the  old 
walls  ring  to  our  voices  as  we  shouted  for  the  guard. 

“Hush,”  said  Miriam,  and  then  she  shouted.  Her 
voice  went  ringing  in  the  Cave  of  Jeremiah  and  along  the 
northern  wall,  and  died  away  down  the  valley  of  Jehosha- 
phat.  Then  the  solemn  silence  again  took  possession  of 
every  thing,  and  we  stood  in  resj^ectful  attendance,  I  had 
almost  said  awe,  before  the  frowning  walls. 

Then  Whitely  hammered  with  his  whip-handle  on  the 
doors,  and  I  made  a  shrill  hunting-whistle  ring  in  the  old 
gateway,  and  at  length  the  sleepy  guard  awoke,  and 
heard  the  magic  word  bucksheesh,  and  the  great  valves 
swung  on  the  silver  hinges  that  we  made  for  them,  and 
we  rode  into  the  dark  streets  of  the  citv. 


128 


THE  VIRGIN’S  FOUNTAIN. 


I  remember  the  dreams  of  that  night  with  the  utmost 
clearness  and  distinctness.  Going  down  that  morning 
into  the  fountain  of  the  Virgin,  I  had  found  at  the  bot¬ 
tom  of  the  steps  an  old  woman,  filling  a  huge  jar  with 
water,  which  I  had  helped  her  lift  to  her  head.  All  night 
long  her  face  haunted  me,  for  she  was  Christian,  and  I 
had  seen  it  plainly  in  the  light  that  came  down  the  gal¬ 
lery.  She  was  like  an  old  housekeeper,  who  in  my  child¬ 
hood  was  wont  to  hold  me  on  her  knee  and  tell  me  stories 
out  of  the  Arabian  Nights;  and  all  night  unconscious  that 
I  was  Bralieem  Effendi  in  Jerusalem,  I  was  a  boy  again 
in  the  old  house  by  the  river,  and  troops  of  genii,  and 
black  servants  of  Haroun  El  Raschid,  were  surrounding 
me  at  the  call  of  my  old  nurse,  who  now  wore  a  plain  cap 
as  of  old,  and  now  with  streaming  hair  and  a  water-jar 
on  her  head,  was  the  old  woman  of  the  Virgin’s  fountain. 


0. 

dU i) e !■  e  ^  e  s  n  §  iliepf. 

Silent  and  thoughtful  in  the  Sepulchre,  lingering  in 
the  garden  of  the  Passion,  under  the  old  olives,  or  climb-’ 
ing  the  steep  sides  of  Olivet  and  pausing  to  look  back  on 
the  holy  Jerusalem  that  lay  behind  us;  standing  on  the 
summit  of  the  minaret  and  looking  into  the  gorge  of  the 
Dead  Sea,  whither  the  hills  went  rolling  downward,  or, 
pleasantest  of  all,  loitering  along  that  pathway  among 
the  olives,  and  along  the  ridge  of  the  hill  that  extends 
from  the  Church  of  Ascension  to  the  village  of  Bethany, 
the  path  that  he  often  walked  in  the  mornings  and  even¬ 
ings  going  to  and  returning  from  the  house  of  Martha 
and  Mary ;  in  one  or  the  other  of  these  spots,  every  tree, 
and  stone,  and  flower  of  which  told  us  stories  of  his  daily 
life  and  human  affections,  his  final  sufferings  and  his 
triumph,  wTe  found  ourselves  either  in  the  morning  or 
evening  of  almost  every  day. 

I  first  went  to  Bethany  on  foot,  by  the  path  around 
the  southern  slope  of  the  Mount  of  Olives,  and  having 
no  guide,  found  out  for  myself  the  reputed  tomb  of  Laz¬ 
arus. 

Bethany  is  on  the  eastern  slope  of  a  spur  of  the  Mount 
of  Olives.  It  is  not,  strictly  speaking,  on  the  Mount  of 
Olives  itself,  unless  we  are  to  understand  that  this  hill  ex¬ 
tends  more  than  a  mile  and  a  half,  and  includes  all  the 

6* 


130 


BETHANY. 


numerous  spurs  and  ridges  that  go  from  it  to  the  east¬ 
ward.  The  village  is  now  a  collection  of  half  ruined  stone 
houses  built  almost  on  top  of  each  other,  and  in  a  shady 
pathway  among  the  buildings,  or  rather  behind  them  on 
the  hill-side,  we  found  the  opening  of  the  so-called  tomb. 

The  tradition  which  makes  this  the  spot  where  one  of 
the  greatest  miracles  of  Christ  was  performed  is  of  a 
very  early  date.  The  skeptic  who  delights  in  disbelief 
has  only  to  say  that  there  is  no  satisfactory  evidence  of 
the  authenticity  of  the  spot,  and  turn  away  in  disdain. 

Not  so  I.  This  was  the  village  of  Martha  and  Mary; 
and,  somewhere  here,  the  Lord  of  heaven,  with  human 
heart  and  human  eyes,  for  the  comfort  and  joy  of  mourn¬ 
ers  in  the  weary  world  thenceforth  forever,  bowed  his 
head  and  wept.  Yea,  there  are  somewhere  here,  stones 
that  the  tears  of  Jesus  fell  upon  ;  and,  in  the  silent  sun¬ 
shine  that  lay  like  a  dream  of  glory  on  the  hill-side,  I 
heard  the  echo  of  his  sigh. 

Here  that  voice  was  heard,  in  tones  which  men  thought 
intended  to  reach  the  ears  of  Lazarus  who  slept,  but 
which  rang  on  the  distant  hills  of  heaven,  and  called  him 
back  from  those  sublime  abodes. 

Yea,  just  here.  We  have  read  the  story  together  often 
in  our  old  home,  my  friend,  and  we  have  talked  a  hun¬ 
dred  times  of  the  scene  when  they  rolled  back  the  stone, 
and  Jesus  said,  “Come  forth,”  as  calmly  as  if  his  voice 
were  not  intended  for  those  infinite  distances  to  which 
Lazarus  had  departed.  We  have  seen  the  pale  Martha 
and  the  loving  Mary,  gazing  with  starting  eyes  and  coun¬ 
tenances  of  intensest  anguish  on  the  open  sepulchre,  and 
we  have  heard  the  wild  cry  of  joy  unutterable  with  which 
they  sprang  to  his  arms,  and  clasped  him  close,  and  kissed 
back  the  stammering  questions  of  astonishment  where¬ 
with  he  again  lqoked  on  the  men  and  the  hill-side  of 
Bethany.  I  was  there  !  Again  the  sceno  was  before  me. 


G R  AYE  OP  LAZARUS. 


131 


I  was  content  to  believe  that  this  was  the  tomb  wherein 
he  lay,  and  this  the  spot  where  the  Lord  welcomed  him 
back  to  earth  and  human  endurance  for  yet  a  little  while 
longer. 

I  say  I  Avas  content  to  believe  it ;  for  I  felt  little  inter¬ 
est  in  fixing  on  the  identical  spot,  since  it  was  enough  for 
me  to  belie\Te  that  this  Avas  Bethany.  Inasmuch  as  it  Avas 
someAvhere  here,  and  it  did  no  harm  to  believe  that  it  Avas 
just  here,  I  Avas  willing  to  believe  it. 

The  steep  hill-side  is  Availed  up  Avith  stone  around  and 
over  the  doorway,  to  keep  the  earth  from  falling  and 
closing  it.  The  door av ay  is  supported  by  large  stone,  and 
on  entering  Ave  immediately  commenced  the  descent  of 
twenty-six  steps,  Avhich  took  us  down  to  a  chamber 
twenty-two  feet  beloAv  the  level  of  the  doorstep.  This 
measured  eleven  feet  by  nine,  Avith  an  arched  roof  seven¬ 
teen  feet  high  in  the  centre.  Descending  three  feet  more 
by  a  door  at  the  side  of  this  chamber,  Ave  Avere  in  a  small 
sepulchral  room  in  which  doubtless  some  one  of  old  times 
has  rested,  and  I  see  no  objection  to  saying  that  this  some 
one  Avas  the  brother  of  Martha  and  Mary. 

Coming  up  from  the  cold  and  damp  chambers  of  death 
Ave  rejoiced  in  the  sunlight  and  the  blue  sky  that  over¬ 
hung  the  spot.  So  Ave  sat  down  on  stones,  or  on  the 
ground ;  and,  while  one  read  aloud  the  thrilling  story, 
the  others,  Avithout  difficulty,  recalled  the  persons  and 
scenes.  A  group  of  villagers  gathered  around  us,  and 
stared  Avith  curious  eyes,  and  listened  Avith  curious  ears, 
to  our  strange  language.  A  little  girl,  not  ungraceful  in 
appearance,  brought  to  Miriam  a  cup  of  cold  Avater.  The 
incident  Avas  scriptural,  and  Ave  marked  it  so  ;  but,  when 
Miriam  had  touched  the  cup  to  her  lips,  all  scriptural 
notions  Avere  astounded  to  flight  by  the  old  sound, 
“  Bucksheesh,”  Across  the  road  from  the  tomb,  I  found 
a  ruin  Avhich  appeared  to  be  an  ancient  Mohammedan 


132 


CHURCH  OF  THE  ASCENSION. 


wely,  or  tomb  ;  and  the  earth  had  accumulated  around  it 
so  that  it  was  ten  feet  under  ground.  This  led  me  to  a 
closer  examination  of  the  tomb  of  Lazarus ;  and  I  became 
satisfied  that  the  same  increase  of  ground  had  taken  place 
here,  possibly  from  the  level  of  the  roof  of  the  first  cham¬ 
ber  ;  but  pious  care  has  constantly  kept  the  stairway 
clear,  and  increased  the  number  of  steps  as  it  became 
necessary.  The  doorway  must  necessarily  be  modern  ; 
that  is,  of  some  period  within  the  later  centuries.  In 
these  old  lands,  the  Crusades  appear  events  of  modern 
times ;  as  in  Egypt,  the  infancy  of  Christ  there  appears  as 
a  thing  of  yesterday,  in  comparison  with  the  relics  of  the 
days  of  Abraham. 

Again,  and  yet  again,  we  walked  that  mountain  path  to 
Bethany,  and  gathered  flowers  along  its  sides,  to  be  life¬ 
long  memorials.  It  wTas  there  that  he  talked  with  his 
disciples  ;  there,  the  fig-tree  withered  at  his  command  ;  it 
was  on  that  path  that  he  mounted  the  ass,  and  rode 
triumphant  into  the  city,  amid  the  acclamations  of  the 
people ;  the  very  people,  perhaps,  who,  a  few  days  later, 
shouted,  “  Crucify  him.”  It  was  somewhere  along  that 
path  that  he  led  his  disciples,  when  the  bending  heavens 
opened  to  receive  him,  and  the  angels  of  God  conducted 
him  to  his  White  Throne.  Every  inch  of  it  was  hallowed 
ground ;  and  there  was  a  sanctity  about  it,  that,  in  my 
view,  surpassed  all  other  places  around  the  Holy  City, 
and  made  it  second  in  interest  only  to  the  Holy  Sepulchre. 

The  Church  of  the  Ascension,  on  the  Mount  of  Olives, 
is  of  early  date  ;  not  later  than  the  period  of  Constantine. 
Of  course,  no  one  of  reasonable  mind  connects  the  foot¬ 
print  in  the  rock,  which  the  Mohammedan  keeper  of  the 
mosk  shows  you  for  a  consideration,  with  that  event 
which  the  church  was  built  to  commemorate  ;  but  I  see 
no  reason  to  doubt  the  truth  of  the  tradition  which  locates 
the  ascension  on  this  spot. 


133 


PLACE  OF  CHRIST’S  ASCENSION. 

The  objection  offered  to  it  is,  that  the  expression  of  the 
Evangelist,  who  says,  that  he  led  them  out  “  as  far  as  to 
Bethany,”  is  not  met  by  a  location  on  the  very  summit 
of  the  Mount  of  Olives,  over  Jerusalem,  more  than  a  mile 
from  the  present  village,  and  probable  site  of  the  ancient 
village,  of  Bethany.  But  I  think  nothing  can  be  more 
clear  than  the  probability  that  Bethpage  and  Bethany 
were  villages  with  extensive  tracts  of  land  around  them, 
reaching  to  and  adjoining  one  another.  Bethany  may 
well  have  included  the  entire  Mount  of  Olives,  or  have 
approached  so  near  it,  as  to  be  virtually  the  same. 

This,  I  think,  is  rendered  certain,  by  the  account  of  the 
riding  into  the  city  on  an  ass’s  colt,  which  is  given  in 
Mark,  xi.  1,  and  onward.  The  expression  here  used  is, 
“They  came  nigh  to  Jerusalem  unto  Bethpage  and 
Bethany  at  the  Mount  of  Olives quite  sufficient  to 
establish  the  fact  that  Bethany  was  actually  at  the  Mount 
of  Olives. 

But  the  statement  in  the  12th  verse  of  the  1st  chapter 
of  Acts,  describing  the  disciples  after  the  resurrection  of 
their  Lord  as  returning  “unto  Jerusalem  from  the  mount 
called  Olivet,  which  is  from  J erusalem  a  Sabbath  day’s 
journey,”  sufficiently  settles  that  the  ascension  was  from 
this  mountain,  and  leaves  open  only  the  question  how  far 
does  the  mountain  called  Olivet  extend,  for  the  evidence 
of  all  history  is  abundant  that  the  hill  directly  over  the 
valley  of  Jehoshaphat  is  and  always  was  so  called  since  the 
days  when  “  David  went  up  by  the  ascent  of  Olivet  and 
wept  as  he  went  up,”  and  all  the  people  “  went  up  weep¬ 
ing  as  they  went  up,”  for  the  rebellion  of  Absalom. 

The  hill,  on  the  slope  of  which  the  ruined  village  of 
Bethany  now  stands,  is  no  more  the  same  hill  with  this 
Olivet  than  Moriah  is  the  same  with  Zion.  The  distance 
from  one  to  the  other  is  more  than  an  English  mile,  and 
the  continuity  of  the  ridge  is  broken  by  deep  depressions, 


134 


PLACE  OF  CHRIST’S  ASCENSION. 


interlocking  valleys  and  all  the  ordinary  obstructions 
which  would  cause  the  hill  to  be  called  two,  three,  or  four 
hills.  But  the  ancient  Bethany  of  Martha  and  Mary  and 
Lazarus  was  located  fifteen  furlongs  from  Jerusalem,  as 
far  as  the  present  village,  and  yet  Bethany  was  at  the 
Mount  of  Olives.  It  appears  to  me  that  we  can  reconcile 
these  facts  well  enough,  and  only,  by  supposing  that 
Bethany  as  a  locality  included  farms,  country  seats  and 
grounds,  which  extended  quite  to  the  summit  of  the 
Mount  of  Olives,  while  the  village  and  the  residence  of 
the  friends  of  our  Lord  was  located  as  we  now  find  it. 

At  all  events,  if  Bethany  was  at  the  Mount  of  Olives, 
and  that  mount  “nigh  to  Jerusalem,”  and  Christ  led  his 
disciples  out  “  as  far  as  to  Bethany,”  I  see  no  reason  to 
dispute  the  assertion  of  any  man  who  tells  us  that  this 
church  marks  the  spot  of  the  ascension,  since  it  is  on  the 
very  summit  of  the  Mount  of  Olives.  The  voice  which 
declares  the  spot  to  be  such  is  of  the  third  century,  for 
the  church  was  built  before  a.d.  330,  as  even  the  most 
skeptical  Orientalists  agree.  I  shall  elsewhere  speak  of 
the  absurdity  of  men  of  the  nineteenth  century  disputing 
on  sacred  localities  with  the  men  of  the  third,  whose 
grandfathers  had  heard  the  preaching  of  Peter,  and  knew 
men  who  saw  the  crucifixion,  and  had  heard  from  the 
Eleven  the  story  of  the  ascension.  If  there  be  one  spot 
on  all  the  earth’s  surface  where  man’s  devotion  would 
hallow  the  very  clods,  and  patriarchs  lead  their  children 
to  tell  them  the  solemn  story  of  its  sanctity,  it  is  the 
spot  where  the  disciples,  just  wakened  to  the  grand  idea 
of  their  Lord’s  resurrection,  and  the  mighty  achievement 
of  a  world’s  salvation,  beheld  him  last  as  the  white  wings 
of  his  angels  enfolded  and  hid  him. 

The  Christians  of  the  early  centuries  were  less  than 
human  if  there  wras  a  day  wThen  they  were  not  found 
kneeling  on  that  spot.  The  heart  of  every  man,  not  to 


AROUND  JERUSALEM. 


135 


say  every  Christian,  tells  him  that  the  very  promise  of 
the  angels  in  white  apparel  that  this  same  Jesus  should  so 
come  in  like  manner  as  they  had  seen  him  go  into  heaven, 
would  keep  them  ever  after  on  that  spot  “  gazing  stead¬ 
fastly”  toward  the  heaven  that  had  received  him.  I  can 
not  admit  the  possibility  of  an  error  in  that  locality  within 
three  hundred  years  after  the  ascension  of  the  Lord. 

It  was  on  our  return  from  Bethany  one  Friday  after¬ 
noon  on  horseback  that  we  made  a  complete  circuit  of 
Jerusalem. 

Whitely  proposed  to  try  our  horses  on  a  steady  run, 
with  only  such  interruptions  as  the  ground  would  make 
necessary,  and  this  “encompassing  of  Jerusalem”  we  ac¬ 
complished. 

We  started  from  the  tomb  of  the  Virgin  in  the  valley 
of  Jehoshaphat,  where  the  bridge  crosses  the  dry  bed  of 
the  brook  Kedron,  at  the  corner  of  the  wall  of  Geth- 
.  semane.  Miriam  sat  on  a  rock  under  the  shadow  of  the 
wall  of  the  garden  and  waited  our  return.  The  pace  was 
easy  as  we  ascended  the  slope  of  the  hill  toward  the  gate 
of  St.  Stephen.  Turning  off  to  the  right  we  increased 
our  speed  as  we  surmounted  the  ridge,  and  passing 
among,  and,  I  am  afraid  I  must  say,  over  some  Moslem 
tombs,  rounded  the  north-east  corner  of  the  walls  at  a 
rattling  pace,  which  we  kept  up  till  we  passed  the  Damas¬ 
cus  gate,  in  the  middle  of  the  north  wall  of  the  city. 
Here  the  gentle  rise  and  hard  road  toward  the  north-west 
corner  gave  us  a  chance  for  a  fair  run.  We  went  neck 
and  neck  across  the  highest  point  of  the  ridge  and  turned 
down  the  valley  of  Gihon  into  the  great  Jaffa  road.  Arabs 
and  Christians  cleared  the  way  as  we  approached  the 
Jaffa  gate,  and  we  made  a  terrible  scattering  among  a 
group  of  Greek  women  who  sat  on  low  benches  in  the 
sunshine  that  warmed  the  western  wall.  As  we  passed 
the  gateway  the  guard  turned  out  to  see  the  race, 


136 


LEPERS. 


and  we  went  up  the  slope  of  Mount  Zion  in  grand 
style,  Mohammed  leading  a  full  length,  and  both  horses 
doing  gallantly.  As  we  turned  the  south-west  corner 
I  was  for  a  moment  puzzled  as  to  a  path  through  the 
Christian  cemetery,  not  knowing  which  would  take  me  by 
the  Zion  gate,  and  as  I  hesitated  Whitely  went  by  me 
like  a  whirlwind,  cleared  the  rocks  that  lay  in  front  of  the 
new  Protestant  cemetery  at  a  flying  leap,  and  led  the  way 
in  a  short  turn  around  the  “  house  of  Caiaphas”  and  by 
the  gate  of  Zion  down  toward  the  Bab  el  Mograbbin. 
Here  the  speed  necessarily  slackened.  The  sharp  turns 
and  uncertain  paths  through  the  valley  of  the  Tyropceon 
and  over  the  point  of  Moriah  bothered  us  both.  We 
rode  on  side  by  side,  without  breaking  the  run,  and  turn¬ 
ing  the  south-east  corner  of  the  temple  wall  and  of  the 
whole  city,  had  a  long  slope  down  to  the  second  bridge 
over  the  Kedron  near  the  tomb  of  Absalom.  Here  the 
speed  became  tremendous  and  Jehu’s  ghost  might  be- 
pardoned  for  rising  to  behold  us  as  we  crossed  the  dry 
bed  of  the  brook,  passed  the  monolithic  tomb,  and  drew  up 
at  the  wall  of  Gethsemane,  where  Miriam  had  waited  just 
twenty-eight  minutes  since  we  started  in  the  other  direc¬ 
tion.  It  is  therefore  possible  to  ride  on  horseback  around 
the  walls  of  Jerusalem  without  breaking  a  canter,  but  I 
must  add,  not  without  some  risk  to  your  neck.  The 
horses  were  not  blown.  We  mounted  again  in  a  few 
minutes,  and  riding  back  to  the  Zion  gate  entered  the  city 
there,  our  object  being  to  see  the  small  community  of 
lepers  who  inhabit  an  isolated  collection  of  huts  just 
within  that  gate. 

The  disease  now  known  as  leprosy  may  be  the  same 
that  was  so  known  in  Scripture,  but  does  not  answer  our 
ideas  of  it.  These  lepers  intermarry  only  with  each  other. 
The  children  seem  healthy  and  grow  to  maturity  without 
disease.  It  shows  itself  in  adult  life,  and  at  length  limbs 


JEWS’  QUARTER. 


137 


become  distorted,  bones  disappear,  features  vanish  from 
the  face,  and  a  horrible  object,  a  mass  of  loathsome  disease 
and  deformity  lies  in  the  street  or  the  gate  to  demand,  by 
its  silent  horror,  the  charity  of  the  well  and  strong. 

I  met  often,  in  Egypt,  with  cases  of  a  disease  more  like 
what  I  imagined  the  ancient  leprosy  to  be,  but  I  saw 
none  of  it  in  Syria.  This  was  a  drying  and  whitening  of 
the  skin  usually  commencing  on  the  breast  and  progress¬ 
ing  over  the  entire  body,  resulting  in  painful  sores  and 
entire  prostration  of  the  system.  It  is  considered  in¬ 
curable  by  the  natives,  and  they  have  great  apprehension 
of  it,  but  no  aversion  to  persons  who  have  it.  The  lepers 
of  Jerusalem  are  a  distinct  class.  It  is  a  subject  of  won¬ 
der  that  they  do  not  run  out,  totally  isolated  as  they  are 
from  all  the  other  population. 

Sending  our  horses  homeward,  we  walked  through  the 
Jews’  quarter,  which  is  on  Mount  Zion.  Many  pretty 
faces,  bright  black  eyes,  and  olive  complexions,  looked 
out  on  us  from  the  doors  and  windows  as  we  went  by, 
but  we  saw  no  men.  It  then  occurred  to  me  that  it  was 
Friday  and  they  would,  doubtless,  be  found  at  the  place 
of  wailing.  I  was  never  more  thoroughly  lost  than  now 
in  the  Jewish  quarter  of  Jerusalem,  and,  the  men  being 
all  absent,  I  could  not  find  a  person  who  understood 
Arabic  or  any  European  language  that  I  could  speak. 
The  women  were  nearly  all  Polish  or  Russian.  At  length 
I  succeeded  in  getting  a  boy  to  understand  that  I  wanted 
to  go  to  the  Jewish  place  of  prayer,  and  he  led  us  into 
their  principal  synagogue.  It  was  not  what  I  wished,  but 
it  was  worth  the  incident  to  find  myself  in  a  place  that 
was  the  legitimate  successor  of  those  of  old  times  in  which 
the  Saviour  was  accustomed  to  speak  on  the  Sabbath  day. 

But  as  the  sun  was  going  westward,  and  the  Sabbath  day 
rapidly  approaching,  we  hastened  toward  the  place  of  wail¬ 
ing.  I  found  my  own  way,  up  one  street,  down  another, 


138 


JEWS’  PLACE  OF  WAILING. 

through  narrow  alley  after  alley,  and  at  last  emerged  sud¬ 
denly  in  a  small  paved  court  or  place,  seventy  or  a  hundred 
feet  long  by  twenty  broad,  the  east  side  of  which  was  the 
high  wall  of  massive  stones  on  the  west  side  of  the  mosk 
in  closure,  which  is  without  doubt  the  same  wall  that  stood 
here,  inclosing  the  temple  in  the  days  of  its  great  glory. 
In  this  place  the  Jews  are  accustomed  to  assemble,  and 
with  low  murmurs  of  prayer  to  bewail  the  desolation  of 
the  holy  places.  Moslem  rule  forbids  their  nearer  approach 
to  their  once  holy  hill.  But  this  little  spot,  for  many  cen¬ 
turies,  has  been  hallowed  by  their  adoring  grief. 

The  impression  made  on  my  mind  by  the  scene  here 
witnessed  will  never  be  effaced.  Men,  women,  and  chil¬ 
dren,  of  all  ages,  from  young  infants  to  patriarchs  of  four¬ 
score  and  ten,  crowded  the  pavement  and  pressed  their 
throbbing  foreheads  against  the  beloved  stones.  There 
was  no  formality  of  grief  here.  We  waited  till  the  crowd 
had  thinned  away  and  only  a  dozen  remained.  These 
were  men  of  stately  mien  and  imposing  countenances. 
Their  long  beards  flowed  down  on  their  breasts,  and 
tears,  not  few,  ran  down  their  cheeks  and  fell  on  the 
pavement.  There  was  one  man  of  noble  features  that  we 
especially  noticed,  whose  countenance  for  more  than  half 
an  hour  seemed  unmoved  by  any  emotion  of  earth,  saving 
only  that  of  deep  grief,  too  deep  for  expression.  I  ap¬ 
proached  close  to  him,  but  he  did  not  look  up  at  me.  He 
sat  on  the  pavement,  his  back  to  a  wall  of  a  house  or  a 
garden,  and  his  face  to  the  wall  that  once  inclosed  the 
shrine  of  his  ancestors.  I  looked  over  his  shoulder  and 
saw  that  he  was  reading  the  mournful  words  of  Isaiah, 
nor  did  I  then  wonder  that  he  wept  for  the  mockery  that 
now  occupied  the  place  of  the  solemn  services  of  the  daily 
sacrifice,  and  the  senseless  Moslem  traditions  which,  in 
vain,  essayed  to  cloud  the  glorious  history  of  the  Mount¬ 
ain  of  the  Lord. 


JEWS’  PLACE  OF  WAILING. 


139 


Evening  came  down,  and  with  the  sunset  the  Sabbath 
commenced.  Still  some  old  men  lingered,  and  still  we 
lingered  too,  for  the  scene  was  one  not  to  be  witnessed 
elsewhere  on  all  the  earth,  the  children  of  Abraham  ap¬ 
proaching  as  nearly  as  they  dared  to  the  holy  of  holies 
and  murmuring  in  low  voices  of  hushed  grief,  and  sobs  of 
anguish,  their  prayers  to  the  great  God  of  Jacob.  Some 
kissed  the  rocky  wall  with  fervent  lips,  some  knelt  and 
pressed  their  foreheads  to  it,  and  some  prayed  in  silent, 
speechless  grief,  while  tears  fell  like  rain-drops  before 
them. 

I  was  deeply  moved,  as  one  might  well  be  in  the  pres¬ 
ence  of  this  sad  assembly ;  the  last  representatives,  near 
the  site  of  their  ancient  temple,  of  those  who  once 
thronged  its  glorious  courts  and  offered  sacrifices  to  the 
God  who  has  so  long  withdrawn  his  countenance  from 
the  race. 

A  more  abject  race  of  men  can  hardly  be  imagined 
than  are  the  down-trodden  children  of  Israel  in  the  city 
of  their  fathers,  except  when  they  assemble  here  where 
the  majesty  of  their  grief  demands  respect  from  every 
human  heart. 

The  English  mission  to  the  Jews  which  is  located  here, 
is,  I  believe,  in  a  measure  successful.  We  met  Bishop 
Gobat  and  several  other  gentlemen  connected  with 
the  mission,  at  the  residence  of  Mr.  Finn,  the  British 
consul,  where  we  passed  a  pleasant  evening.  Travelers 
have  frequently  expressed  their  obligations  to  Mr.  Finn, 
for  his  courtesy  and  kindness  which  they  have  always  ex¬ 
perienced,  especially  American  travelers,  who  have  long 
felt  the  want  of  an  American  consul  at  Jerusalem,  who 
can  speak  English  and  understand  Americans  * 

The  condition  of  the  Jews  in  their  ancient  city  is  abject 

*  Since  this  was  written  I  am  informed  that  an  American  gentleman 
has  been  sent  out  as  consul  to  Jerusalem. 


140 


JEWS  IN  JERUSALEM. 


in  the  extreme.  Vast  numbers  of  them  are  exceedingly 
poor.  They  have  a  custom  which  allows  these  to  beg  of 
other  Jews  two  days  in  the  week.  They  are  limited  in 
their  demands  to  one  para,  about  the  eighth  part  of  a  cent. 
It  is  a  remarkable  fact,  that  in  no  country  in  the  world, 
America,  Europe,  Asia,  or  Africa,  have  I  ever  met  a  Jew 
who  begged  of  me  ;  and  I  have  no  doubt  every  reader 
of  this  will  be  able  to  say  the  same  of  himself.  The  Jews 
take  care  of  their  own  poor. 

There  is  one  hospital  for  Jews  in  Jerusalem,  established 
by  a  Rothschild,  which  has  eighteen  beds.  There  is,  I 
believe,  another,  connected  with  the  English  mission ;  and 
there  are  some  smaller  of  which  I  know  nothing.  The 
American  hospital  will  be  the  noblest  work  by  far  yet 
accomplished  for  the  benefit  of  the  Jews  in  Jerusalem. 

Before  it  was  quite  dark  we  visited  another  part  of  the 
western  wall  of  the  area  of  the  mosk  and  ancient  temple, 
which  is  now  very  properly  known  by  the  name  of  its  dis¬ 
coverer  as  Robinson’s  Arch,  and  with  which  the  name  of 
that  distinguished  scholar  will  be,  I  hope,  forever  con¬ 
nected  as  a  monument  of  his  learning  and  research. 

The  huge  stones  which  form  this  broken  relic  of  a  great 
arch  were  often  noticed  as  doubtless  portions  of  the  ancient 
temple  walls,  but  no  one,  till  Dr.  Robinson’s  visit  in  1842, 
imagined  them  to  be  what  he  immediately  named  them, 
the  remains  of  the  great  bridge,  which  Josephus  describes 
as  connecting  Zion  and  the  temple. 

One  of  the  stones  is  crumbling  to  pieces ;  and  a  broken 
piece  of  this,  which  I  added  to  my  collection  of  relics,  I 
think  myself  safe  in  believing,  without  doubt,  a  part  of 
the  identical  walls  of  the  ancient  temple,  possibly  of  the 
temple  of  Solomon. 

In  closing  this  chapter  I  may  add,  by  way  of  answer  to 
the  repeated  queries  that  all  men  make  about  Jerusalem, 
that  there  are  many  portions  of  the  wall  that  inclosed  the 


A  N  Cl  E  N  T  JERUSALEM. 


141 


temple  courts  now  standing ;  and  there  is  no  reasonable 
doubt  whatever  that  they  have  never  been  moved  since 
they  were  originally  laid. 

On  the  eastern  side  of  the  inclosure,  the  wall  that  over¬ 
hangs  the  valley  of  Jehoshaphat  is  largely  composed  of 
immense  blocks  of  stone,  some  of  which  I  found  to  meas¬ 
ure  twenty-three  feet  by  five  and  a  half,  and  their  thick¬ 
ness,  that  of  the  wall,  from  five  to  seven  feet.  These 
stones  are  evidently  of  ancient  times  and  in  ancient  posi¬ 
tions.  Of  the  relics  of  those  times  within  the  sacred  in¬ 
closure  I  shall  speak  in  another  chapter.  When  I  come 
to  speak  of  the  topography  of  ancient  Jerusalem,  I  shall 
remark  on  the  common  error  which  supposes  that  Jerusa¬ 
lem  was  overthrown  and  demolished  by  Titus.  For  the 
present,  it  is  enough  to  say  that  the  prophecy  of  Christ, 
which  is  often  referred  to,  of  the  total  demolition  of  the 
stone  structures  of  the  temple,  if  at  all  literal,  had  refer¬ 
ence  only  to  the  buildings  themselves,  which  are  now 
gone ;  but  parts  of  the  inclosing  walls,  and  the  crypts  that 
formed  the  foundations  of  the  southern  parts  of  the  temple, 
remain  to  this  day. 


Hie  Moolis  pd  the 

Count  all  the  years  of  your  life,  my  friend,  and  if  you 
are  any  thing  less  than  a  century  old,  I  will  pledge  you 
my  word  you  have  not  lived  in  all  those  years  so  much  as 
I  lived  in  the  short  time  I  was  in  the  city  of  David.  To 
rise  in  the  morning  early,  and  go  along  the  Way  of  Grief 
to  the  gate  of  St.  Stephen,  and  out  on  the  brow  of 
Moriah,  there  to  see  the  sun  rise  over  Olivet ;  to  go 
down  and  wash  your  eyes,  heavy  with  sleep,  in  the  soft 
waters  of  Siloam,  that  they  might  never  ache  again  ;  to 
climb  the  sides  of  Mount  Zion,  and  come  in  by  Zion  gate, 
and  so  up  the  streets  of  the  city  to  the  Holy  Sepulchre ; 
to  visit  Calvary  and  the  Tomb  ;  to  press  your  knee  on  the 
cold  rock  where  the  first  footsteps  of  the  risen  Saviour 
were  pressed  ;  and  then,  as  the  twilight  came  on,  and  the 
moonlight  fell  softly  in  the  valley,  to  go  down  to  Gethsem- 
ane  and  pray!  Think  of  days  thus  spent,  of  day  after 
day  of  such  hallowed  life,  varied  with  morning  walks  to 
Bethany,  or  an  afternoon  canter  over  the  hills  of  Bethle¬ 
hem,  or  two  days’  journeying  down  the  way  of  the  wil¬ 
derness  to  wash  off  the  dust  of  life  in  the  Jordan !  Think 
of  all  this,  and  tell  me  if  I  did  not  live  years  in  hours 
while  I  called  it  my  home,  in  the  house  of  Antonio  on  the 
Via  Dolorosa ! 

It  was  always  pleasant  to  visit  the  Convent  of  the  Terra 


MONKS  OF,  TERRA  SANTA. 


143 


Santa,  where  I  found  a  welcome  from  the  excellent  Supe¬ 
rior  and  the  Procurator-general,  which  added  to  my 
convictions  of  the  genuine  hospitality  and  kind  feeling  of 
Latin  monks  of  the  Holy  Land.  The  convent  occupies  a 
large  space  in  the  north-western  corner  of  the  city,  and  fur¬ 
nishes  abundant  accommodation  for  Latin  pilgrims,  who, 
although  once  by  far  the  most  numerous  of  the  visitors  to 
the  sacred  places,  are  now,  perhaps,  the  most  rare.  The 
immense  processions  that  in  old  days  poured  down  the 
banks  of  the  Danube  and,  crossing  the  Bosphorus,  came, 
foot-worn  and  weary,  to  the  gate  of  Jerusalem,  there  to  lie 
and  wait  until  some  wealthy  pilgrim,  like  Robert,  father 
of  William  the  Norman,  should  arrive  and  pay  their  trib¬ 
ute  or  toll-money,  without  which  they  would  perish  on 
the  very  threshold  of  their  desired  resting-place,  have 
long  since  ceased  to  be  known.  Armenians,  Greeks,  and 
even  Copts  and  Abyssinians,  still  throng  the  holy  places 
about  the  week  of  Easter,  but  the  Latin  pilgrims  from 
Europe  are  “  few  and  far  between.”  Circumstances  that 
no  human  power  can  control  have  brought  about  this 
change.  The  poor  pilgrims  who  have  no  means  to  pay  their 
passage  across  the  sea,  can  not  now,  as  formerly,  traverse 
the  land.  Greece,  Austria,  and  Turkey  offer  impassable 
barriers  to  the  wandering  pilgrim  from  Italy ;  and  men 
who  attempted  the  barriers  of  the  kingdom  of  Vienna,  on 
the  plea  of  being  pilgrims  to  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  would, 
especially  if  in  any  force,  find  their  way  to  dungeons 
nearer  home. 

But,  to  the  credit  of  the  Convent  of  the  Terra  Santa, 
be  it  said  that  no  religion  is  a  bar  to  the  hospitality  of  its 
walls,  and  no  man  is  forbidden  to  rest  in  it  by  reason  of 
being  Protestant,  Infidel,  or  Jew.  Before  the  establish¬ 
ment  of  hotels  in  Jerusalem,  all  travelers  were  in  the 
habit  of  going  to  one  or  the  other  of  the  religious  houses. 
In  anticipation  of  such  a  necessity,  I  had  provided  my- 


144 


LATIN  CONVENT. 


self,  at  Cairo,  with  a  letter  from  the  Armenian  bishop 
there,  to  the  Wakil,  or  agent  of  the  bishop,  in  Jerusalem, 
asking  him  to  provide  me  rooms  in  the  convent,  on  Mount 
Zion,  of  which  I  shall  speak  hereafter.  I  have  already 
related  that  I  took  rooms  elsewhere.  I  made  an  appoint¬ 
ment  one  morning,  however,  for  a  special  visit  to  the  Latin 
Convent,  to  see  certain  things  not  often  exposed  to  the 
gaze  of  travelers,  and  for  the  pleasure  of  seeing  which,  I 
was  indebted  again  to  my  friend  Mr.  Pierotti,  through 
whom  I  had  become  acquainted  with  the  Franciscan 
brothers  of  the  Convent  of  the  Terra  Santa. 

The  war  which  has  so  long  existed  between  the  Greek 
and  Latin  churches  in  Jerusalem,  is  unhappily  rivaled  by 
an  intestine  trouble  in  the  latter  church,  of  the  merits  of 
which  I  had  full  explanations  in  repeated  conversations 
with  my  friends  at  the  convent,  but  which  I  have  no 
space  to  go  into,  nor  my  reader  the  desire  to  hear.  The 
result  of  it,  however,  has  been,  that  for  many  years  the 
treasures  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre  belonging  to  the  Latin 
church,  and  which  formerly  adorned  the  Sepulchre  in 
Easter  week,  are  now  strictly  concealed  in  the  Convent 
of  the  Terra  Santa,  and  the  approach  of  the  Patriarch,  or 
any  of  his  division,  is  most  sedulously  forbidden. 

The  wealth  of  Europe  has  for  centuries  been  lavished 
on  the  Sepulchre.  As  I  have  before  remarked,  I  had  been 
greatly  disappointed  at  the  brass  and  trumpery  which  I 
found  there  in  j)lace  of  the  richness  I  had  expected.  The 
fact  is,  that  each  party,  being  desirous  of  retaining  those 
treasures,  and  the  Franciscans  having  possession  of  them, 
they  are  no  longer  exhibited  to  the  public,  but  are  kept 
in  a  concealed  part  of  the  convent. 

I  entered  the  room  of  the  venerable  Superior,  a  noble¬ 
looking  man,  with  whom  I  had  had  not  a  little  pleasant 
intercourse.  Seated  in  his  diwan,  I  drank  a  glass  of 
rosolio,  and  another  of  arrakee,  and  after  chatting  a  few 


LATIN  CONVENT. 


14o 


moments,  went  up  to  the  room  of  the  Procurator-general, 
where  I  was  accustomed  to  look  at  a  splendid  Murillo,  a 
picture  of  St.  John  in  the  Wilderness,  which  adorned  its 
wall,  and  in  front  of  which  we  usually  found  much  better 
tipple  than  John  had  in  the  wilderness. 

Indeed,  I  may  remark  just  here,  that  it  requires  a  very 
hard  head  indeed,  to  escape  sober  from  an  eastern  con¬ 
vent.  The  excellent  Fathers  keep  most  capital  wines  and 
liquors,  which  they  themselves  use  very  temperately,  if 
at  all,  but  which  they  press  most  hospitably  on  their 
guests.  At  the  Convent  of  the  Terra  Santa,  in  Jeru¬ 
salem,  after  drinking  with  the  Father  Superior,  and 
afterward  with  the  Procurator-general,  we  seldom  es¬ 
caped  except  through  the  medicine  department,  where 
the  reverend  Father  who  had  charge  of  the  immense 
store  of  drugs  and  medicines  for  pilgrim  use,  always  had 
a  bottle  of  rare  old  arrakee,  that  flowed  like  oil,  and  of 
which  he  always  insisted  on  your  taking  one  of  those 
small  glasses  that  whet  the  appetite  for  a  second  and  a 
third,  so  that,  on  my  faith,  it  was  a  difficult  thing  to  re¬ 
fuse  the  rosolio  with  which  he  gave  you  the  coup  de  grace, 
and  you  had  need  to  look  to  your  brain  if  you  would  not 
lose  command  of  it. 

I  had  a  strong  temptation  always  before  me  in  the 
miserably  disarranged  library  of  the  convent,  which  con¬ 
sisted  chiefly  of  old  Spanish  theological  books,  but  in  which 
there  were  piles  of  unknown  stuff  that  I  much  desired 
time  to  finger.  It  was  some  consolation,  however,  to  re¬ 
flect  that,  beyond  a  doubt,  a  hundred  manuscript-seekers 
had  been  before  me  in  the  search,  and  it  was  not  likely 
there  was  any  thing  to  repay  the  labor  of  looking. 

We  were  led  into  a  remote  room  where  was  nothing 
to  attract  attention,  nor  would  a  stranger  have  supposed 
that  it  contained  such  treasures  as  we  found  in  drawers, 
and  cases,  and  closets.  In  the  drawers  were  the  robes  of 

7 


146 


CONVENT  TREASURES. 


the  Patriarch,  gorgeous  with  jewels  and  gold.  I  had  no 
means  of  estimating  their  value,  except  by  comparing 
them  with  some  which  I  had  seen  in  the  Crystal  Palace 
at  Paris  during  the  previous  summer,  and  in  comparison 
with  these  I  had  no  difficulty  in  believing  the  monks,  who 
stated  the  several  costs  of  each  dress  as  it  was  produced. 

“  This  was  a  present  from  the  King  of  Spain.  It  cost 
a  hundred  thousand  francs  of  France.  This  was  given  by 
Napoleon  the  Great.  It  was  worth  a  half  million.  This 
was  from  the  Emperor  of  Austria,  this  from  the  King 
of  Naples  and  thus  they  continued  until  they  had 
shown  us  something  like  twenty  of  those  splendid  gifts 
of  royalty  to  the  service  of  the  Church  of  the  Ascension. 

These  robes  were  accompanied,  each  by  its  own  proper 
suites  of  other  articles  of  dress,  which  I  am  not  able  to 
name  technically,  nor  the  general  reader  to  understand 
any  better  if  I  were.  In  a  closet,  fitted  up  expressly  for 
it,  were  hung,  pendent  from  the  top,  a  number  of  lamps, 
of  superbly-chased  gold  and  silver,  with  which  in  former 
times  it  was  customary  to  replace  the  brazen  lamps  of 
Calvary  and  the  Tomb  on  important  occasions.  In  draw¬ 
ers  below  these,  were  the  jewels  of  the  patriarchate, 
diamonds,  emeralds,  and  rubies,  flashing  on  superb  cro- 
ziers  and  heavy  rings. 

The  Patriarch  has  obtained  possession  of  the  most  val¬ 
uable  crozier,  but  the  two  which  I  saw  here  were  esti¬ 
mated  at  thousands  of  dollars,  how  many  I  have  quite 
forgotten.  Indeed,  I  became  puzzled  with  the  splendor 
that  surrounded  me,  and  after  coming  away,  found  it  dif¬ 
ficult  to  recall  the  different  articles  I  had  seen,  so  many 
and  similar  in  value  were  they. 

In  one  corner  of  a  large  room,  lay  a  huge  pile,  which 
appeared  like  the  corner  of  a  tinman’s  shop,  and  had  not 
my  attention  been  especially  directed  to  it,  I  should  have 
thought  it  a  collection  of  old  tinware,  pans  and  water- 


r 


CONVENT  TREASURES. 


147 


leaders,  gutters,  spouts,  and  such  chandeliers  as  I  remem¬ 
ber  to  have  seen  in  old  times  in  the  church  at  Liberty,  in 
Sullivan  county,  when  I  was  taking  trout  on  the  Willo- 
weemock. 

This  proved  to  be  a  heap  of  solid  silver,  more  in  weight 
we  believed  than  a  half  ton,  consisting  of  various  church 
ornaments,  and  especially  of  huge  candelabra,  standing 
over  seven  feet  high  from  the  floor,  wrought  in  beautiful 
shapes  of  the  solid  metal,  and  heavier  than  one  man  could 
well  lift.  Near  this,  some  rough  doors,  on  a  temporary 
closet  being  opened,  disclosed  an  altar,  or  a  shrine,  of  the 
same  white  metal,  pure,  rich,  and  elegant,  more  than  six 
feet  high  and  four  in  breadth,  wrought  in  gothic  and 
other  forms,  beautifully  chased  and  finished.  It  was  a 
jwesent  from  some  crowned  head  in  years  long  past,  and 
it  has  been  treasured  in  a  garret  chamber  of  the  convent 
from  the  day  it  was  received.  Whether  it  will  ever  see 
the  light  is  a  question  I  can  not  answer.  It  may  lie  there 
a  hundred  years,  to  be  seen  only  by  such  chance  travelers 
as  father  Stephano  shall  be  induced  to  guide  to  the  treas¬ 
ure  room. 

The  wealth  contained  in  this  chamber  I  have  no  means 
of  estimating.  Taking  the  value  of  the  articles  at  their 
original  cost,  I  have  no  doubt  there  were  many  hundred 
thousand  dollars’  worth ;  but  in  the  present  state  of  the 
faded  robes,  of  which  the  value  of  many  consists  only  in 
the  jewels  with  which  the  cloth  of  gold  is  studded,  and 
the  massive  silver  candelabra,  and  shrines,  and  altar  furni¬ 
ture,  which  are  to  be  estimated  only  by  weight,  I  am 
totally  without  the  means  of  giving  even  an  approximate 
guess  at  the  wealth  of  the  Convent  of  the  Terra  Santa. 
I  should  not  call  it  theirs,  for  they  regard  it  strictly  as 
the  Lord’s  property,  and  the  evidence  of  this  is,  that  for 
years  these  heaps  of  gold,  and  silver,  and  jewels  have  lain 
untouched  in  the  custody  of  the  Franciscan  brothers,  and 


148 


RELICS  AND  ROSARIES. 


there  is  no  one  on  earth  to  call  them  to  account  for  any 
appropriation  they  might  see  fit  to  make  of  the  value. 

Returning  from  the  chamber  of  treasures,  I  wandered 
along  the  great  gallery  of  the  convent,  where  every  little 
cell,  appropriated  to  the  pilgrim  guests,  had  on  its  door 
a  skeleton  picture,  by  way  of  a  memento  mori,  and  at 
length  arrived  at  the  relic  and  rosary  chamber,  where 
the  great  trade  in  rosaries  and  articles  of  Jerusalem  and 
Bethlehem  manufacture  is  carried  on.  The  shelves  were 
covered  with  beads  of  every  color  and  shape,  wrought 
from  the  hard  fruit  of  the  Dom  palm,  which  is  in  fact  a 
variety  of  the  so-called  vegetable  ivory ;  figures  of  the 
Saviour  and  the  Virgin,  and  other  holy  characters,  carved 
on  the  mother  of  pearl  shell  of  the  Red  Sea ;  cups  and 
crucifixes  of  the  common  stone  of  Jerusalem;  paper¬ 
weights  and  images  in  the  black  bitumen  stone  of  the 
Dead  Sea ;  rosaries,  crosses,  and  various  articles,  made  of 
the  olive-wood  of  the  surrounding  hills.  The  store  of 
these  articles  seemed  sufficient  to  supply  the  world. 

They  are  wrought  chiefly  at  Bethlehem,  where,  I  may 
remark,  in  passing,  the  traveler  will  find  the  most  skillful 
carver  of  shell,  in  the  shape  of  Esau ,  a  Christian  under 
the  protection  of  the  Convent  of  the  Nativity;  but  I 
may  add,  the  traveler  will  find  him  much  sharper  than 
his  illustrious  namesake,  and  wholly  disinclined  to  sell  any 
thing  for  a  mess  of  pottage  that  is  not  worth  at  least 
twice  as  much. 

Mindful  of  a  number  of  friends  in  America  wTho  would 
prize  these  memorials,  as  well  as  of  those  who  wTould  not 
value  them  the  more  for  having  been  laid  on  the  Sepul¬ 
chre  and  in  the  socket  of  the  Cross,  but  who  would  use 
them  as  bracelets  and  similar  ornaments,  whose  value 
would  consist  in  the  mere  fact  that  they  were  made  at 
Bethlehem,  and  sold  in  the  Convent  of  the  Terra  Santa 
at  J erusalem,  I  purchased  a  pile  of  these  curious  beads, 


ARMENIAN  CONVENT. 


149 


which,  I  am  happy  to  say,  the  taste  of  my  American 
friends  has  loudly  approved,  and  I  do  not  perceive  that 
their  reputed  sanctity  is  any  bar  to  their  acceptance  in 
good  society  at  home.  It  is  very  certain  that  no  one 
who  possesses  one  of  the  olive-wood  rosaries  hesitates  to 
relate  to  any  one  who  sees  it  where  it  came  from,  and  I 
have  not  seen  any  who  desired  to  conceal  the  fact  that  it 
had  been  laid  on  the  Holy  Places. 

I  went  the  same  day  to  visit  the  Armenian  Convent, 
and  make  a  formal  call  on  the  bishop.  The  building  oc¬ 
cupies  a  large  portion  of  Mount  Zion,  and  the  gardens 
run  along  the  south-western  wall  of  the  city,  almost  from 
the  Jaffa  gate  to  that  of  Zion. 

Entering  the  gloomy  archway  of  the  convent,  and 
lingering  for  a  few  moments  in  the  church,  which  is 
much  the  most  rich  and  elegant  in  Jerusalem,  we  wTent 
up  at  length  to  the  grand  hall  of  reception,  where  we 
were  informed  that  the  bishop  was  engaged  in  the  after¬ 
noon  prayer  in  one  of  the  chapels,  and  we  sat  down  on 
the  diwan  to  wait  his  arrival. 

He  at  length  came,  a  venerable  man,  with  white  and 
flowing  beard,  attended  by  four  of  his  clergy,  all  simply 
dressed  in  plain  black  gowns,  and  all  exceedingly  polite 
and  affable.  The  bishop  insisted  on  giving  Miriam  his 
own  seat  in  the  cushioned  corner  of  the  diwan,  where 
some  shawls  indicated  the  j)lace  of  honor,  while  he  took 
a  seat  at  my  side  and  talked  in  a  very  low  tone  of  voice, 
and  in  the  manner  of  a  kind  old  man.  There  was  a 
warming  of  the  heart  that  I  can  not  well  describe  when¬ 
ever  I  approached  those  old  guardians  of  the  sacred 
places,  and  more  perhaps  toward  this  man  than  to  any 
other,  for  the  venerable  appearance  which  he  presented. 

He  asked  me  about  the  bishop  in  Cairo,  and  then  the 
news  from  the  war,  which,  as  late  comers  from  the  sea 
coast,  we  were  likely  to  know  of.  We  inquired  about  the 


150 


SOAP. 


statistics  of  Jerusalem,  of  the  number  of  Christians,  Mo¬ 
hammedans,  and  Jews  in  the  city,  and  on  these  latter  sub¬ 
jects  I  found  him  abundantly  well  informed,  and  willing 
to  give  me  the  information.  Moreright,  who  accom¬ 
panied  me,  or  whom  I  accompanied,  for  the  appointment 
was  his,  engaged  the  old  man,  while  I  talked  with  one  of 
the  other  clergymen.  The  talking  on  their  part  was  car¬ 
ried  on  in  Armenian,  but  the  interpreter  was  able  to 
speak  very  little  English,  and  the  conversation  lagged. 

At  this  moment  it  seemed  suddenly  to  flash  through 
the  mind  of  the  bishop  that  we  were  from  America,  and 
he  laid  his  white  hand  on  my  shoulder  and  said  (I  under¬ 
stood  that  of  course  by  his  tone,  and  needed  no  inter¬ 
preter)  : 

“  You  are  American  ?” 

Of  course  I  assented.  A  smile  passed  over  his  fine  old 
face  as  he  spoke,  and  the  interpreter  gave  it  to  me. 

“  He  says  he  has  heard  of  America.” 

“  I  am  glad  to  know  it.  It  is  a  great  country.” 

He  wouldn’t  know  that  I  was  not  original  in  that  remark. 
But  his  next  rather  staggered  me.  I  was  watching  his 
words,  as  was  my  custom  when  a  man  spoke  in  a  language 
that  I  knew  nothing  about,  and  I  distinctly  heard  a  word 
I  knew. 

“  The  bishop  say,  good  soap  in  America.” 

“  Ye — es,”  thought  I,  as  I  looked  in  perfect  amazement 
at  the  old  man’s  black  and  deep  still  eyes.  He  couldn’t 
be  quizzing  me.  What  the  deuce  could  he  mean  by  soap. 
I  asked  Murad,  the  interpreter,  what  he  said. 

“  He  say  soap.” 

“Ye — es — don’t  he  talk  Arabic? — ask  him  to  speak 
Arabic.” 

It  wasn’t  to  be  mistaken — the  old  man  looked  at  me 
patronizingly  as  he  said  in  pure  dialect  of  the  Hejaz, 
“  You  have  good  soap  in  America.”  He  said  so — sabone 


ARMENIAN  CONVENT. 


151 


* 


is  soap  in  every  oriental  tongue,  and  I  had  heard  the 
word  in  his  Armenian.  But  I  looked  in  horror  to  Whitely 
and  Moreright  for  help ;  and  as  for  Miriam,  she  was  abso¬ 
lutely  buried,  face  and  eyes,  in  the  cushions,  and  I  couldn’t 
catch  a  sympathizing  look. 

“Tell  him,  Yes” — and  he  told  him  yes,  and  then  I 
added  that  we  were  celebrated  for  the  article,  but  we  did 
more  in  the  soft  soap  line,  importing  our  best  of  the  hard 
sort  from  France.  And  then  the  good  old  fellow  related 
to  me  how  he  had  once  in  Stamboul  bought  some  soap 
that  came  from  America  and  found  it  capital.  It  wasn’t 
soft,  but  it  made  his  hands  soft — and — and  on  the  whole 
he  agreed  with  me  that  America  was  a  great  country  in 
the  article  of  soap,  and  I  didn’t  endeavor  to  enlighten 
him  further  on  the  subject  of  our  magnificence. 

But  as  we  came  out  of  his  room  we  received  his  fare¬ 
well  blessing,  kindly  given  and  thankfully  received,  for  he 
was  a  good,  simple-hearted  old  man.  We  brought  with 
us  very  pleasant  recollections  of  him. 

We  climbed  the  staircase  to  the  roof  of  the  convent, 
and  there  beheld  a  view  that  I  shall  forget  when  I  forget 
Jerusalem.  Far  down  in  the  south-east  was  the  deep 
gorge  of  the  Dead  Sea,  and  a  storm  that  had  been  pour¬ 
ing  its  floods  on  the  city  had  gone  down  there,  and  was 
sweeping  through  the  hollow,  where  the  rays  of  a  crimson 
sun,  just  setting,  were  shining  on  it.  It  was  as  if  the  cities 
of  the  plain  wrnre  consuming  before  our  eyes,  and  the 
splendor  of  their  burning  were  going  up  to  heaven  as  we 
gazed.  And  then  the  storm  went  on,  and  the  red  light, 
that  was  not  shining  on  Jerusalem  at  all,  fell  on  the  mount¬ 
ains  of  Moab,  and  they  stood  like  hills  of  gold  beyond 
the  black  chasm  in  which  for  so  many  thousands  of  years 
the  executed  vengeance  of  God  has  lain. 

The  convent  grounds  are  surrounded  by  dry  walls  of 
stone,  which  will  attract  the  traveler’s  eye  and  cause  his 


wonder.  A  story  is  told  thereof ;  that  not  long  ago  the 
Armenians  having  been  long  desirous  to  build  a  new 
convent  and  guest  rooms,  and  having  been  refused  per¬ 
mission,  at  length  devised  a  plan  to  accomplish  their  de¬ 
sires.  They  invited  the  pasha  to  a  feast,  and  when  they 
had  gotten  him  tolerably  drunk  on  Champagne,  which 
some  Mussulmans  do  not  think  is  wine  within  the  prohibi¬ 
tion  of  the  prophet,  he  found  a  large  pile  of  gold  in  his 
plate,  and  in  the  depths  of  his  good  feeling  granted  the 
desired  permission  to  erect  walls  and  inclose  a  building. 
The  next  day  they  commenced  work,  but  he,  now  sober, 
unwilling  to  recall  his  permit,  thought  to  render  it  useless 
by  forbidding  them  to  use  mortar.  They  proceeded,  never¬ 
theless,  with  so  much  success,  in  building  dry  walls,  that 
the  prohibition  was  revoked,  and  they  were  allowed  to  go 
on  in  the  usual  way.  The  dry  walls  remain,  as  far  as  fin¬ 
ished,  a  monument  of  their  industry.  So  saith  the  story, 
which  Armenians  and  Moslems  agree  (for  once)  in  saying 
is  a  slander. 

I  think  it  was  on  the  morning  after  my  visit  to  the 
Armenian  Convent  that  we  were  seated  as  usual  after 
breakfast  in  the  dining  room  of  our  house  on  the  Yia 
Dolorosa,  and  I  interrupted  Whitely’s  reveries. 

“Wake  up,  Whitely.  Rouse  yourself,  old  fellow.  You 
will  vanish  in  a  cloud  of  smoke  some  pleasant  morning  in 
Jerusalem.” 

“  What  pleasanter  apotheosis  could  one  desire  or  pray 
for,  O  Braheem  Eftendi?  Let  me  rest  here  in  hopes  of 
such  blessed  evanishment.” 

He  was  seated  in  front  of — no,  he  was  all  around  the 
stove  in  the  dining  room,  and  he  had  piled  in  the  olive- 
wood  stumps  till  it  roared  and  blazed  furiously.  His 
chibouk  was  redolent  of  delicate  Latakea,  and  Dr.  Rob¬ 
inson’s  three  volumes,  Eothen,  the  Crescent  and  the 
Cross,  Dr.  Olin,  and  a  Bible,  were  on  his  lap. 


TO  THE  TOMBS. 


153 


“  I  say,  Mr.  Whitely,”  asked  a  traveler,  who  by  chance 
had  come  in  for  a  call  that  morning,  being  one  of  a  party 
that  were  up  at  the  Mediterranean  hotel,  “  can  you  tell 
me,  Mr.  Whitely,  in  what  part  of  the  Bible  I  can  find  that 
passage,  that 4  Jordan  is  a  hard  road  to  travel  ?’  We  think 
of  going  down  to  the  Jordan  to-morrow,  and  wre  were 
trying  to  look  up  the  passages  in  the  Bible  about  it.” 

“Reckon  you’d  better  look  in  the  Lamentations  of 
Jeremiah,”  said - ,  who  was  seated  in  the  deep  win¬ 

dow,  bargaining  for  Bethlehem  beads  with  a  man  in  the 
court  below.” 

“For  Jerusalem’s  sake,  shut  that  wundow,”  shouted 
Whitely ;  “  I  should  think  the  wind  was  from  Lebanon 
this  morning.  Where  are  you  going  to-day,  Braheem 
Effendi  ?” 

“  To  the  tombs.” 

“  What  tombs  ?” 

“Samson’s  and  Gideon’s,  Jael’s  and  Solomon’s,  John’s 
and  Mary’s,  and  Salome’s  and  Ruth’s,  and  all  the  other 
women,  and — ” 

“Hang  the  women.” 

“Unrighteous  infidel!  Well,  then,  the  tombs  of  the 
Prophets.” 

“  Hang  the  prophets.” 

“  Scoffing  unbeliever.” 

Whereupon  he  threw  the  first  volume  of  Robinson  at 
me,  and  it  went  through  the  glass  window  behind  me, 
and  struck  Ferrajj  precisely  between  his  white  eyes  as  he 
stood  looking  up  to  Miriam,  who  was  giving  him  some 
orders  about  her  donkey.  But  it  did  not  disturb  the 
Nubian’s  temper,  prince  of  good  servants  that  he  was, 
Ferrajj  the  trusty.  He  shook  his  head,  picked  up  the 
book,  and  a  moment  later  stalked  into  the  room  with  a 
grin  on  his  countenance,  and  handed  it  to  Whitely,  who 
was  meanwhile  puffing  furiously  at  the  end  of  his  chibouk- 


154 


TOMB  OF  HELENA. 


stick  and  flourishing  an  unopened  bottle  of  claret,  with 
which  he  threatened  me  if  I  dared  approach  him. 

“  Ferrajj,  get  the  donkey  ready.” 

“  It ’s  raining,  sir.” 

a  Well — what  if  it  is — are  you  afraid  of  wetting  your 
skin  ?  You  would  do  well  to  take  the  donkey  into  the 
kitchen  and  get  him  ready  there,  then.” 

Five  minutes  later  the  rain  was  over,  and  we  found  the 
donkey  actually  in  the  kitchen  by  Hajji  Mohammed’s  fire, 
for  the  Nubian  never  could  appreciate  irony  or  a  joke, 
and  had  taken  my  remark  as  serious. 

The  tombs  around  Jerusalem  have  been  so  frequently 
described  that  I  do  not  propose  to  devote  any  large 
amount  of  space  to  them  in  the  present  work.  The 
most  extensive  and,  perhaps,  the  most  interesting,  is  that 
known  as  the  Tomb  of  the  Kings,  but  which  is,  without 
doubt,  the  tomb  of  Helena,  widow  of  Monobazus  king 
of  Adiabene,  who  died  in  Jerusalem  (having  adopted 
Judaism)  in  the  reign  of  Claudius  Caesar,  and  with  which 
all  readers  of  works  on  Jerusalem  are  familiar.  It  is  sit¬ 
uated  on  the  table-land  north  of  the  city,  and  is  exca¬ 
vated  in  the  rock,  having  a  portico,  from  which  the 
columns  are  broken  away,  looking  out  into  a  sunken 
court  cut  also  in  the  rock.  At  some  distance  beyond 
this — a  much  greater  distance,  I  very  well  remember,  than 
we  had  imagined,  for  Whitely,  Moreright,  and  I  walked, 
while  Miriam  rode,  and  we  were  not  a  little  fatigued  by 
the  expedition — we  found  the  so-called  Tombs  of  the 
Judges,  a  name  perhaps  derived  from  some  one’s  idea 
that  there  were  seventy  niches  in  the  tomb,  that  being 
the  number  of  the  Judges  of  the  Sanhedrim. 

This  is  an  extensive  tomb,  containing  many  chambers, 
each  having  rows  of  niches  for  bodies.  But  no  indication 
whatever  can  be  found  of  its  date,  and  the  interest  con¬ 
nected  with  it  is  necessarily  purely  imaginary.  The 


VARIOUS  TOMBS. 


155 


same  may  be  said  of  hundreds  of  rock-hewn  tombs  in  the 
hill-sides,  north,  east,  and  south  of  Jerusalem.  They 
abound  everywhere.  Whenever  an  upright  rock  was 
found  for  a  doorway,  they  hewed  into  it  a  resting-place 
for  the  tired  sons  of  Jacob. 

Here  the  men  of  those  old  times  were  accustomed  to 
find  that  rest  which  all  men,  in  all  ages,  have  needed  and 
found.  It  was  at  least  a  melancholy  interest  that  I  took 
in  looking  into  these  now  empty  chambers,  and  peopling 
them  with  the  living  forms  of  those  whose  dust  had  gone 
to  dust  within  them,  and  was  scattered  afterward  on  the 
surrounding  soil  to  become  part  thereof.  In  one  I  ven¬ 
tured  the  imagination  that  the  stout  arm  of  Joab  mould¬ 
ered,  and  in  another  I  even  dared  fancy  the  presence  of 
the  beautiful  Shunamite.  Here  those  who  had  heard 
the  wisdom  of  Solomon,  who  fought  with  Rehoboam, 
who  saw  the  crucifixion  of  the  Lord,  slept  after  life. 
Somewhere,  in  the  valleys,  on  the  hill-sides  around  the 
Holy  City,  is  even  now  the  precious  dust  of  such  men  as 
blind  Bartimeus,  who,  though  healed  at  Jericho,  might 
well  have  followed  his  Saviour  to  the  Cross,  and  wept 
his  old  eyes  blind  again  at  the  Sepulchre ;  Lazarus,  whom 
there  was  none  to  raise  when  he,  old  and  weary,  slept  a 
second  time ;  and  of  such  women  as  Martha,  and  Salome, 
and  Mary. 

Coming  down  the  valley  of  Jehoshaphat  and  passing 
by  the  so-called  tombs  of  Absalom,  of  Zacharias,  and 
the  Cave  of  James,  and,  on  the  hill-side  near  the  village 
of  Silowan,  the  monolith  that  is  called  the  tomb  of  Solo¬ 
mon’s  Egyptian  wife,  we  sought  the  hill  of  Aceldama, 
which  lies  south  of  the  valley  of  Ben  Hinnom,  and  oppo¬ 
site  the  extreme  point  of  Ophla,  which  is  the  falling  off  of 
the  hill  of  Moriah. 

The  point  where  the  valley  of  Ben  Hinnom  runs  into 
the  valley  of  Jehoshaphat  is  in  many  respects  interesting. 


156 


ACELDAMA. 


The  Pool  of  Siloam  lies  on  the  inner  side  of  Ophla,  a 
short  distance  above  the  point  of  junction. 

The  Well  of  Job,  as  it  is  called,  lies  in  the  broad  val¬ 
ley  below  the  junction.  Its  interest  consists  in  the  un¬ 
doubted  fact  that  it  is  the  En  Rogel  of  Scripture  men¬ 
tioned  in  Joshua  xv.  7,  and  xviii.  16.  Its  present  name 
Ayub  is  possibly  from  the  founder  of  the  Ayubites. 

The  tradition  which  makes  the  slope  and  top  of  the 
southern  hill  the  Aceldama  of  the  ISTew  Testament,  dates 
from  a  very  early  period,  but  my  reader  perhaps  feels  as 
little  interest  as  I  in  determining  its  truth.  More  en¬ 
grossing  was  the  present  aspect  of  the  hill,  the  slope  of 
which  is  almost  honeycombed  with  tombs,  some  of  con¬ 
siderable  architectural  interest.  The  principal  one  of  these 
is  a  tomb  discovered  not  many  years  since,  and  barely 
referred  to  by  modern  travelers,  who  appear  to  have  but 
glanced  at  its  front,  or  only  entered  it  to  come  immedi¬ 
ately  out. 

All  these  tombs  were  in  fine  positions.  For  there  is 
taste  in  selecting  the  spot  to  rest.  Could  the  men  who 
slept  here  have  realized  their  desires,  it  would  have  been 
the  grandest  spot  for  the  morning  of  awakening  on  all 
the  surface  of  the  earth. 

Jew  and  Mohammedan  alike  believing  that  the  Judg¬ 
ment  would  occur  over  the  valley  of  Jehoshaphat,  these 
sleepers,  could  they  realize  their  hopes,  wTould  have  come 
from  the  rocky  doors  of  their  graves,  and  beheld  before 
them  Mount  Zion  and  Mount  Moriah  in  all  their  stately 
grandeur,  and  the  footsteps  of  the  Judge  on  the  Mount 
of  Olives.  It  was  a  grand  place  to  lie  and  wait  the  Judg¬ 
ment. 

The  first  tomb  that  struck  me  as  of  special  interest  was 
one  which  opens  with  a  plain  front.  The  second  room  in 
this  tomb  was  square,  but  the  ceiling  was  dome-shaped, 
with  a  round  spot  in  the  centre,  and  radiating  lines  from 


it,  the  spaces  between  the  lines  hollowed  out  like  the 
fluting  of  a  column.  The  resemblance  between  this  and 
the  subterranean  arches  in  El  Aksa  struck  me  forcibly. 
In  the  third  room  were  two  side  niches  with  arched  tops, 
and  four  graves.  The  three  rooms  constituted  the  tomb. 
The  first  or  outer  one  being  roofed  with  a  pointed  arch, 
hewn  in  the  rock,  and  the  front  walled  up.  This  tomb  is 
now  used  as  a  stable,  as  indeed  are  all  which  are  accessible 
to  cattle. 

That  touching  and  beautiful  custom  of  the  ancients,  of 
visiting  the  tombs  of  the  dead,  and  passing  many  hours 
of  the  day  near  them,  is  evidenced  in  this  tomb  by  four 
small  square  windows  opening  from  the  outer  into  the 
second  room.  Visitors  could  sit  in  the  outer  chamber, 
and  from  the  open  doorway  look  up  to  the  city,  while 
they  were  not  wholly  separated  from  their  dead  who  lay 
in  the  inner  chambers. 

The  next  tomb  which  I  shall  speak  of  was  to  me  by  far 
the  most  interesting  of  those  around  Jerusalem,  and  I  am 
confident  will  hereafter  possess  still  more  interest  when  it 
can  be  cleaned  out  and  thoroughly  examined.  It  is  ap¬ 
proached  by  a  steep  descending  passage  through  the 
earth.  The  terrace  of  the  rock  on  which  it  was  formerly 
opened  being  now  covered  deep  with  earth,  and  the  ex¬ 
cavated  passage  admitting  an  entrance  only  by  lying 
down  and  crawling  in  on  the  face,  or  sliding  in,  feet  first. 
Within  this  tomb,  hundreds,  and  I  am  safe,  I  think,  in 
saying  thousands,  of  the  ancient  dead  yet  lie  in  solemn 
repose. 

The  first  chamber  measures  eleven  feet  by  eleven,  and 
has  the  plain  dome  roof,  twelve  feet  high  in  the  centre, 
which  is  found  in  very  few  tombs,  and  which  I  think 
indicative  of  a  cotemporaneous  taste,  not  very  remote 
from  that  of  the  tomb  I  have  just  described. 

From  this  room,  two  doorways  on  each  side,  except 


158  INTERESTING  TOMB. 

the  front,  six  in  all,  each  six  feet  high,  open  into  as  many 
chambers.  Each  doorway  is  carved  with  a  plain  mould¬ 
ing  at  the  sides  and  over  the  top.  Between  the  two 
doors  on  each  side  is  a  round  half  pillar  left  projecting  ; 
of  one  of  which  the  upper  part  is  cut  off,  as  if  to  leave  a 
niche  for  a  lamp. 

Entering  the  first  room  on  the  right,  I  found  the  two 
sides  of  the  doorway  occupied  by  two  couches  left  in  the 
rock,  as  long  as  the  human  body,  and  deep  enough  to 
hold  numerous  skeletons  which  lay  in  them,  where  they 
seem  to  have  been  rudely  scattered  about  by  visitors. 
Over  each  couch  the  ceiling  was  arched ;  a  style  that  is 
prevalent  in  the  tombs  about  Jerusalem.  Originally,  I 
think,  each  couch  was  intended  for  one  body,  to  be  in¬ 
closed  by  a  lid.  This  is  the  style  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre. 
The  second  room  was  precisely  similar  to  this.  The  third, 
opening  from  the  second  side  of  the  principal  room,  had 
couches  on  three  sides,  arched  as  described,  and  all  full  of 
bones.  Under  the  rear  couch  an  opening  descended  into 
a  pit  leading  into  a  large  chamber  full  of  the  dead,  which 
I  could  not  get  into  on  account  of  the  mud  and  slime. 

The  fourth  room  has  three  couches,  as  the  third  ;  behind 
and  over  one  of  which,  a  square  niche,  eighteen  by 
twenty-four  inches,  opened  into  a  chamber  whose  size  I 
did  not  measure,  but  which  was  piled  up  to  the  ceiling 
with  the  dead,  as  they  had  lain  there  and  decayed,  bones 
and  earth ;  the  earth  that  had  been  men,  mingled  in  a 
dense  mass,  and  apparently  with  lime.  This  niche  is  so 
high,  that  I  could  look  into  it  only  by  standing  on  the 
couch  over  which  it  opened.  I  managed  to  climb  into  it, 
with  great  difficulty,  and  dug  out  enough  of  the  bones  to 
see  that  the  room  was  shaped  as  Nos.  1  and  2,  with  two 
couches  ;  but  couches  and  room  are  filled  with  bones  and 
earth. 

Boom  No.  5  was  like  Nos.  1  and  2. 


THOUSANDS  OF  THE  DEAD. 


1.50 


Door  No.  6  opens  into  a  room  once  like  NTos.  1  and  2  ; 
but  the  rear  of  it  opens  by  a  breach  into  several  rooms  of 
which  I  could  get  little  idea,  from  reasons  that  will  appear. 
Three  of  them  were  very  large,  and  into  them  I  crawled 
on  my  hands  and  knees,  close  to  the  ceiling,  over  piles  of 
bones  and  earth ;  one  dense  mass,  that  crushed  and 
crumbled  under  me  as  I  advanced.  I  sat  down  on  the 
pile  in  one  room,  and  counted  skulls  that  I  picked  up  and 
threw  into  the  most  remote  corner  ;  I  stopped  at  one  hun¬ 
dred,  and  I  saw  no  diminution.  The  passages  leading 
from  these  chambers  to  others  were  filled  to  the  ceiling 
with  the  same  piles  of  decayed  humanity.  The  most 
singular  thing  in  all  this  was  the  perfect  whiteness  of  walls 
and  ceiling  in  this  corrupt  place.  I  attributed  it  to  the 
probable  fact  that  great  quantities  of  lime  had  been  used 
here.  They  looked  as  if  white-washed  the  day  previous. 

Who  these  countless  dead  were,  is  a  question  not  to  be 
answered  until  that  day  when  every  man  will  answer  to 
his  name  and  deeds.  A  natural  suggestion  to  my  own 
mind  was,  that  this  ancient  tomb  had  been  used  in  the 
middle  ages  to  bury  pilgrims,  or,  perhaps,  the  dead  in 
the  battles  of  the  Cross.  It  had  the  appearance  of  a 
place  in  which  they  had  been  heaped  at  one  and  the 
same  time,  and  the  mass  had  settled  a  few  inches  from 
the  ceiling  in  the  process  of  decay. 

I  sat,  with  pencil  in  hand,  for  some  time  in  this  dark 
abode  of  death,  Miriam  holding  a  candle  for  me  to  make 
notes ;  and  I  had  scarcely  finished  when  Whitely  dark¬ 
ened  the  entrance,  as  he  slid  down  feet  first,  and  de¬ 
manded  how  long  we  proposed  to  keep  company  with 
the  old  Jews. 

The  idea  was  startling.  Were  they  verily  men  of  the 
times  of  the  Lord  ?  Was  that  skull  the  very  skull  of  the 
man  that  walked  the  streets  of  Jerusalem  the  evening  of 
that  awful  day,  having  been  roused  from  his  grave  by  the 


160 


PILLAR  OF  ABSALOM. 


earthquake?  Why  not?  None  answered  me;  none 
could  answer  me.  Imagination  had  free  rein  here,  and  I 
was  at  liberty  to  believe  them  the  followers  of  David,  of 
Titus,  or  of  Godfrey,  as  I  thought  best. 

Musing:  thereon  we  came  to  the  modern  Aceldama,  a 
building  that  occupies  a  large  space  on  the  side  of  the 
hill,  not  far  from  this  tomb,  and  which  has  been  now  long 
abandoned,  and  is  empty.  It  is  a  deep  excavation,  walled 
up  and  arched  over ;  but  openings  in  each  end  of  the  top 
enabled  us  to  look  down  in  and  see  the  fallen  stone  that 
once  composed  the  walls,  and  here  and  there  a  bone  ;  but 
no  evidence  of  its  ancient  purposes — the  burial  of  pil¬ 
grims  who  died  in  Jerusalem.  From  this  spot  the  earth 
that  is  met  with  in  the  curious  old  Campo  Santo  at  Pisa, 
and  various  other  places  in  Italy,  is  said  to  have  been 
carried. 

Returning  up  the  valley  of  Jehoshaphat  we  now  visited 
more  carefully  than  before  the  tomb  or  pillar  of  Absalom, 
and  others  near  it.  We  had  often  passed  them,  throwing 
a  stone  each  time,  in  obedience  to  the  custom,  which  thus 
expresses  the  detestation  in  which  all  good  Christians 
and  Moslems  hold  a  disobedient  son. 

The  tomb  of  Absalom  is  a  monolith,  made  by  hewing  a 
passage  into  and  around  a  piece  of  the  great  rock  wall  on 
the  east  side  of  the  valley  of  Jehoshaphat,  and  then  hew¬ 
ing  into  shape  the  piece  left  standing.  The  upper  part  of 
it  is  built  up.  The  front  is  terribly  battered ;  and  what 
was  once  a  square  window  is  now  a  rough  breach.  Of 
the  real  date  and  object  of  this  structure  no  one  can  affirm 
any  thing,  and  the  same  is  true  of  the  tomb  of  Zacharias, 
a  short  distance  from  this,  and  of  similar  description.  I 
should  much  like  the  time  to  excavate  about  this  latter 
tomb,  into  which  as  yet  no  opening  is  known.  It  is  prob¬ 
ably  below  the  earth  which  has  accumulated  about  it. 

The  tomb  of  St.  James,  or,  as  it  is  more  properly  called, 


ANCIENT  COINS. 


161 


the  Cavern  of  St.  James,  is  a  cave  hewn  in  the  face  of  this 
same  rocky  wall,  the  front  being  supported  by  two  pillars, 
which  derives  its  name  from  a  tradition  that  the  apostle 
lay  hidden  here  during  that  time  of  terror  which  followed 
the  scene  in  Gethsemane. 

These  three,  the  most  celebrated  of  the  tombs  around 
Jerusalem,  are  alike  subjects  for  imagination.  No  in¬ 
scription,  definite  tradition,  or  history  affords  any  aid  in 
determining  their  origin.  Behind  the  tomb  of  Absalom 
is  a  subterranean  tomb,  called  that  of  Jehosliaphat,  which 
is  kept  closed,  and  in  which  the  Jews  of  the  city  are  al¬ 
lowed  to  claim  a  certain  proprietorship.  Of  its  contents 
I  was  unable  to  learn  any  thing ;  and  I  regretted  much 
arriving  one  day  a  few  minutes  after  it  was  closed  by  a 
Jew  who  had  entered  it.  The  common  story  is,  that  they 
keep  here  concealed  a  book  of  the  law,  and  sundry  valu¬ 
able  relics ;  but  in  a  situation  so  exposed  to  night  robbers 
I  scarcely  think  this  probable.  The  tomb,  however,  is 
closed,  and  the  front  heaped  over  with  earth.  It  is  de¬ 
scribed  as  having  a  fine  pediment  front,  opening  in  the 
niche  or  trench  around  the  tomb  of  Absalom. 

On  the  hill  below,  near  the  village  of  Silowan,  is  another 
monolith,  hewn  as  the  tomb  of  Absalom  is,  and  said  to  be 
that  of  Pharaoh’s  daughter,  who  married  Solomon.  It 
contains  two  simple  rock-hewn  chambers,  of  no  interest 
whatever. 

As  I  finished  my  examination  of  the  tombs,  and  turned 
to  go  up  the  hill  of  Moriah,  it  occurred  to  me  that  the 
boys  of  Silowan  are  celebrated  for  picking  up  coins  around 
Jerusalem,  and  I  shouted  to  one  of  them,  who  sat  perched 
on  a  rocky  bluff,  to  inquire  if  he  had  any.  The  prospect 
of  a  purchaser  brought  down  all  the  youth  of  the  village; 
and  I  soon  had  literally  hundreds  of  coins  offered  me, 
which  I  bought  en  masse,  having  then  no  time  for  exam¬ 
ination  to  select  those  of  value.  The  number  of  these 


162 


CATACOMBS  OF  OLIVET. 


found  around  Jerusalem  is  enormous.  I  have  found  many 
myself;  and  that  day,  having  exhausted  the  supply  at 
Silowan,  I  jwoceeded  up  the  side  of  Mount  Moriah,  and 
looking  on  the  ground  as  I  climbed  the  steep  ascent,  I 
found  a  half  dozen  before  reaching  the  top. 

There  remains  but  one  more  tomb  to  be  specially  men¬ 
tioned,  outside  the  walls  of  Jerusalem,  and  this  we  visited 
on  another  day. 

We  had  been  at  Bethany,  and  returning  over  the 
Mount  of  Olives  we  paused  on  the  summit  to  take  that 
view  of  the  east  and  the  west  that  so  often  met  the  morn¬ 
ing  and  evening  gaze  of  the  Saviour,  on  his  accustomed 
walk.  Having  once  more  filled  our  eyes  and  our  souls 
with  the  prospect,  we  descended  the  minaret — for  it  was 
from  it  that  we  had  gazed — and  paying  the  usual  buck- 
sheesh,  were  about  to  go  down  the  path  by  the  garden  of 
Gethsemane,  when  the  idea  occurred  to  us,  that  some¬ 
where  on  this  hill-side  was  a  cavern  of  curious  construc¬ 
tion  known  as  the  tomb  of  the  Prophets,  and  by  others  as 
the  catacombs  of  the  Mount  of  Olives.  An  Arab  boy 
offered  to  guide  us,  and  descending  south-west  from  the 
minaret,  we  found  the  opening  of  the  cavern  in  an  olive 
orchard,  half  way  down  the  slope.  The  descent  into  it 
wTas  through  a  hole  in  a  rock  which  let  us  into  a  semi¬ 
circular  chamber,  from  which  a  passage-way  entered  the 
hill-side. 

This  passage  ended  in  a  gallery  which  described  an 
arc  of  a  circle  around  the  first  chamber,  and  was  crossed 
at  half  its  length  by  a  similar  gallery  between  the  chamber 
and  the  outer  gallery.  There  was  an  irregular  winding 
passage  which  left  the  chamber  at  the  right  and  joined 
the  end  of  this  smaller  gallery,  and  again  proceeded  from 
the  opposite  end  of  it  in  a  long  winding  passage  through 
the  hill  ending  in  the  loose  earth.  One  or  two  cross 
passages  and  three  or  four  irregular  small  chambers  com- 


pleted  the  excavation,  of  which  no  full  idea  can  be  given 
without  a  plan.  These  are  the  celebrated  catacombs  of 
the  Mount  of  Olives,  and  seated  in  the  remote  part  of  the 
long  winding  gallery  with  'VVhitely  and  Miriam,  a  dim 
light  in  our  hands  scarcely  shining  on  each  others’  faces, 
we  for  a  moment  thought  them  somewhat  of  an  approx¬ 
imation  to  the  accounts  we  had  heard  of  them.  I  suppose 
them  to  be  a  sort  of  public  catacomb,  perhaps  excavated 
for  speculation  purposes.  But  here  as  everywhere 
around  Jerusalem,  among  the  tombs,  conjecture  is  our 
only  course,  and  the  mind  and  the  body  turn  from  these 
unknown  tombs  with  unutterable  emotions  toward  the 
Sepulchre  of  the  Lord. 

Before  leaving  them,  however,  it  is  proper  to  remark 
that  the  descriptions  of  travelers  have  much  exaggerated 
the  sjdendor  of  them.  That  of  Helena  is  described  by 
grave  and  learned  men  as  a  monument  of  royal  magnifi¬ 
cence.  The  fact  is  that  they  are,  one  and  all,  very  rude 
excavations,  with  some  few  ornamental  carvings,  but  none 
possessing  any  great  beauty  or  indicating  either  skill  or 
taste,  and  as  compared  with  the  tombs  of  secondary  class 
in  Egypt,  very  inferior  in  all  respects,  while  they  are  not 
at  all  to  be  compared  with  the  tombs  of  the  kings  at 
Thebes,  or  of  the  priests  and  princes  at  Beni  Ilassan. 


u. 

0 

jB  e  i)  i § M e  1  • 


On  one  of  those  still  and  quiet  evenings,  when  the  sun 
had  just  gone  down  behind  the  city,  we  rode  up  the  val¬ 
ley  of  the  Kedron  by  the  well  of  Joseph,  returning  from 
a  long  canter  toward  Bethlehem  and  down  the  way  of  the 
wilderness  to  Saint  Saba. 

Miriam’s  horse  was  fresh,  and  champed  the  bit  with  as 
much  spirit  as  when  we  started.  Mohammed  *was  pretty 
well  used  up,  and  the  rein  lay  on  his  neck,  while  I  myself, 
somewhat  more  tired  than  usual,  drooped  a  little  in  my 
saddle  and  rode  with  my  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground,  every 
inch  of  which  was  sanctified  by  footstej^s  of  patriarchs  and 
apostles  in  the  sacred  ages. 

The  valley  of  Jehoshaphat  lay  deep  in  gloom,  although 
the  last  rays  of  the  sun  had  scarcely  left  the  summit  of 
Olivet,  and  the  minaret  of  Omar  gleamed  yet  in  the  crim¬ 
son  light  of  the  west.  The  tombs  of  the  old  Jews  were 
silent  in  the  darkness,  and  as  we  passed  under  the  rocky 
heights  of  Siloam  it  appeared  before  us  as  if  we  were  en¬ 
tering  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death. 

The  pathway  winding  under  the  tomb  of  the  wife  of 
Solomon  and  then  crossing  an  open  sj3ace  opposite  to  the 
south  angle  of  the  temple  wall,  enters  directly  among  the 
graves  of  the  Jews,  marked  each  with  a  heavy  slab  lying 
prostrate  on  the  tomb,  carved  in  Hebrew  characters  with 


BEN  ISRAEL. 


165 


the  simple  story  of  the  son  of  Israel.  The  steep  slope  of 
the  eastern  side  of  the  valley  is  filled  with  these  graves, 
where,  for  thousands  of  years,  the  children  of  Israel  were 
accustomed,  and  are  still  accustomed,  to  seek  that  deep 
sleep  that  the  weary  always  find. 

Miriam  was  a  little  in  advance,  and  the  chestnut  was 
setting  his  dainty  feet  down  and  lifting  them  up  as  if  he, 
with  true  Arab  feelings,  despised  the  dust  of  that  valley, 
when  suddenly  he  threw  his  head  up  in  the  air  and  sprang 
out  of  the  road,  almost  into  the  bed  of  the  Kedron. 

Mohammed  looked  on  in  surprise,  but  was  too  cool  to 
follow  the  young  horse’s  example.  A  moment  later  the 
cause  of  the  fright  was  manifest  in  a  form  that  rose  slowly 
from  a  Jewish  tomb,  directly  by  the  road-side,  and  which 
a  cooler  head  than  Hassan’s  might  have  been  pardoned 
for  thinking  a  spirit. 

Betuni,  who  was  close  behind,  rushed  forward  and  be¬ 
gan  to  pour  out  Arabic  curses  on  the  stranger,  which  I 
stopped  as  soon  as  I  could  get  an  audible  word  into  the 
storm.  I  was  passing  on  again  in  silence,  when  the 
stranger  sank  suddenly  down  on  the  grave  with  a  moan 
that  seemed  verily  as  if  life  had  gone  out  with  his  breath. 

I  sprang  from  my  horse  involuntarily.  I  had  seen 
enough  of  misery  and  pain  in  the  East  to  make  a  woman’s 
heart  callous,  but  there  was  something  indescribable  in 
that  form,  and  the  moan  of  anguish,  that  impelled  me  to 
the  man’s  side,  as  I  had  never  before  been  moved.  But 
when  I  approached  him,  he  appeared  to  be  past  all  sym¬ 
pathy,  and  I  believed  that  the  soul  had  verily  sought  the 
open  arms  of  Abraham,  those  arms  wherein  so  many  of 
his  world-worn  children  desire  earnestly  to  find  repose. 

“  Run,  Betuni,  to  the  fountain  of  Mary,  and  bring 
water.” 

I  gave  him  my  leathern  pocket-cup,  and  he  was  gone 
in  an  instant,  leaving  me  with  the  dead  Jew,  while  Mir- 


166 


BEN  ISRAEL. 


iam  sat  on  her  horse,  by  this  time  reduced  to  quiet,  and 
patiently  waited  the  result  of  my  examination. 

Already  the  short  twilight  was  ended,  and  the  stars 
looked  down  into  the  valley,  but  it  was  dark  and  silent, 
nor  could  I  see  a  gleam  of  light  from  Silowan  to  the  gate 
of  St.  Stephen.  Betuni  returned  with  the  water,  and 
diluting  a  little  brandy,  which  my  pocket-flask  always 
contained,  I  poured  it  into  the  mouth  of  the  old  man, 
while  Betuni  rubbed  his  hands  and  arms  with  the  brandy 
itself,  damning  him  in  his  mind  all  the  while  for  a  Jew, 
though  he  dared  not  whisper  a  curse  in  my  presence. 

At  length  returning  consciousness  was  evident,  and  he 
began  to  speak,  as  if  to  himself,  broken  words,  in  Italian, 
and  in  a  few  moments  sat  up  and  looked  around  him. 

“  Not  dead  yet,”  said  I,  as  cheerfully  as  I  could  speak, 
and  smiling,  too. 

He  looked  at  me  with  his  piercing  eyes,  and  spoke,  in 
a  voice  that  I  shall  not  soon  forget, 

“  I  shall  never  die.” 

I  can  not  well  express  the  thrill  of  astonishment  with 
which  I  listened  to  those  words.  Doubtless  you  under¬ 
stand  why.  All  the  wild  legends  of  that  conscience- 
spurned,  soul-cursed  man,  who  from  the  morning  of  the 
crucifixion  to  this  day,  has  wandered  hopeless,  and  prayed 
in  vain  for  death  and  oblivion,  rushed  across  my  memory. 

He  answered  well  the  description,  or  the  imagination 
of  that  man.  He  was  very  tall,  even  stately  in  his  form, 
and  he  wore  the  loose  flowing  robes  which  eastern  old 
men  always  wear.  His  face  was  thin,  his  features  sharp, 
but  noble,  his  beard  long  on  his  breast,  and  white  as 
snow ;  his  eye  flashing,  but  melancholy,  and  his  forehead 
high  and  white,  but  written  all  over  with  the  sorrows  of 
existence. 

I  looked  at  him  as  he  spoke,  and  for  an  instant,  spite 
of  reason,  thought  that  I  verily  beheld  that  man. 


PEN  ISRAEL. 


167 


The  next  instant,  I  smiled  again,  at  my  own  folly. 

“  And  why  not  ?” 

“  Because  I  have  wished  it  so  long  and  it  has  never 
come,  and  I  despair  of  rest  now.  I  can  not  die.” 

“  You  are  an  old  man.” 

“  My  children’s  children  are  asleep  below  this  spot,  and 
I  remain.” 

“  Do  you  live  in  Jerusalem  ?” 

“  I  live  where  God  leads  me — sometimes  in  Jerusalem, 
sometimes  in  Germany,  sometimes  in  Russia.  I  am  a  J ew.” 

“  But  not  homeless  therefore  ?” 

“  Yea,  homeless  therefore.  Where  have  the  children 
of  Jacob  a  home,  except  here  ?”  And  he  pointed  sadly 
to  the  ground  by  the  side  of  the  stone  on  which  he  sat, 
and  fixed  his  eager  old  eyes  on  mine  as  if  he  thought  I 
could  tell  him  of  another  resting-place  for  the  “  tribes  of 
the  wandering  foot  and  weary  breast.” 

I  asked  him  his  present  intentions.  It  appeared  that 
he  had  remained  in  the  valley  by  the  graves  of  his  chil¬ 
dren  until  the  gate  of  the  city  was  closed,  and  of  course 
he  was  denied  entrance.  For  some  unexplained  reason, 
the  soldiers  of  the  guard  at  the  gate  of  St.  Stephen  had 
closed  it  before  sunset,  and  he  had  walked  back  to  the 
spot  that  was  dearest  to  him  on  earth,  the  only  dust  of 
all  this  broad  world  in  which  he  claimed  a  special  propri¬ 
etorship,  and  had  lain  down  there  to  pass  the  night  under 
the  sky.  It  was  not  the  first  night  he  had  passed  there, 
by  very  many.  He  could  count  them  by  years,  the  nights 
he  had  had  no  covering  from  the  dew,  no  shelter  from  the 
wind.  But  the  dews  of  this  land  he  loved,  and  the  winds 
of  the  hills  around  Jerusalem  were  like  the  winds  of  Para¬ 
dise  to  him,  and  he  was  content  to  sleep  there,  and  only 
longed  to  sleep  there  forever. 

I  know  not  what  it  was  that  drew  me  to  that  man  so 
closely.  Probably  I  shall  never  know.  There  are  secret 


168 


BEN  ISRAEL. 


cords  drawing  our  affections  which  we  know  nothing  of, 
and  can  never  explain.  He  was  too  weak  to  walk,  and  I 
led  my  horse  up  to  the  side  of  a  tomb-stone  near  the  road, 
where  Betuni  held  him,  while  I  helped  the  old  man  into 
the  saddle,  and  fixed  his  feet  in  the  stirrups,  and  then 
walked  by  his  side,  while  Betuni,  growling  occasionally, 
led  the  horse,  and  so  we  passed  the  tomb  of  Absalom, 
and  the  wall  of  Gethsemane,  and  the  grave  of  the  Virgin 
Mother,  and  soon  shouted  our  demand  for  entrance  at 
the  gate  of  St.  Stephen.  Money  opens  the  gates  at  all 
hours  of  day  or  night.  The  sleepy  guard  turned  out  at 
the  sound  of  bucksheesli,  and  stared,  in  as  much  surprise 
as  could  be  expected  from  half  awake  Arabs,  at  the  old 
man  riding  on  the  horse  of  the  Christian  pilgrim.  So  we 
walked  up  the  Via  Dolorosa,  dark  and  dismal  at  this  time 
of  the  evening,  and  I  parted  with  my  old  friend,  at  the 
gate  of  Antonio’s  house,  whence  I  sent  Betuni  with  him 
to  his  own  quarters,  which  I  had  learned  were  near  the 
Zion  gate,  and  whither  I  despatched  Moses  with  a  basket 
of  provisions,  and  a  liberal  supply  of  the  wine  of  Hebron. 

The  next  morning,  as  we  were  taking  our  usual  walk, 
we  met  him  on  the  same  spot.  He  rose  as  we  approached, 
and  expressed  his  gratitude  with  the  utmost  feeling,  but 
I  made  him  sit  down  and  tell  us  somewhat  of  his  story. 
It  was  so  much  of  an  illustration  of  the  life  of  many  of  the 
weary  children  of  Abraham  that  I  can  not  forbear  giving 
a  sketch  of  it. 

He  sat  on  a  tomb-stone.  The  reader  knows  already 
that  these  tomb-stones  are  masses  of  the  native  rock, 
hewn  smooth  on  one  side,  and  laid  on  the  grave.  The 
ancient  law  forbade  Jews  to  erect  a  tomb  above  the 
ground,  or  place  a  slab  standing  upright. 

On  one  of  these  he  sat,  and  Miriam  close  by  him  on 
another,  and  I  stood  in  front  of  him,  and  watched  stead¬ 
fastly  his  fine  countenance  as  he  spoke. 


BEN  ISRAEL. 


169 


High  over  head,  before  his  face,  but  behind  me,  was 
the  temple  wall  that  once  inclosed  the  glory  of  Solomon, 
and  high  over  head  as  well,  before  me,  but  behind  him, 
was  the  hill  where  our  Saviour  wept  over  the  city  of  David, 
and  where  the  dust  fell  from  his  departing  feet  when  he 
ascended  to  his  throne.  Fit  emblem  of  his  faith  and  mine. 
His  eyes  were  to  the  crumbling  walls  of  the  temple,  mine 
to  the  blue  sky  above  the  Garden  and  the  Mount. 

“  I  lived,  when  a  young  man,  in  Frankfort  on  the  Maine, 
in  the  old  Judenstrasse,  which  perhaps  you  have  seen. 
My  house  was  the  third  on  the  right  as  you  enter  the 
street.  Opposite  to  me  was  the  house  in  which  afterward 
the  mother  of  the  great  barons  lived,  whose  names  are 
better  known  among  the  nations  of  the  world,  I  verily 
believe,  than  are  the  names  of  their  glorious  ancestors, 
the  patriarchs  of  old  time.  I  was  born  in  Italy,  but  I 
married  a  young  German  girl  in  Venice,  and  went  with 
her  to  Frankfort.  I  labored  there  for  many  years  as  a 
teacher  of  music,  an  art  wherein  I  had  much  skill. 

“  Troubles  arose,  and  with  our  children  we  commenced 
that  life  which  seems  to  be  the  inheritance  of  our  race. 
FromFrankfort  to  Basil,  from  Basil  to  Geneva,  from  Geneva 
to  Milan,  from  Milan  to  Florence  and  to  Home,  pausing 
one,  two,  or  three  years  in  each  place,  and  even  longer 
in  Geneva,  where  we  were  happier  than  elsewhere,  we  at 
length  settled,  as  we  hoped  for  life,  in  the  city  of  the  Pope. 

“  There  for  twenty  years  I  lived,  simply,  frugally,  and 
jierhaps  with  as  much  of  happiness  as  we  can  expect,  who 
are  persecuted  and  forsaken  of  our  God.  But  one  morn¬ 
ing,  when  the  Christians  of  Home  celebrated  the  feast  of 
the  Corpus  Domini,  as  they  are  wont  to  call  it,  I,  in  a 
fatal  hour,  wandered  into  the  precints  of  the  great  church 
of  the  crucified  fisherman  of  Galilee,  and  leaning  on  a 
wall  in  the  rear  of  the  assembled  crowd,  asked  myself 
solemnly  what  all  this  could  mean. 

8 


170 


BEN  ISRAEL. 


44  I  was  an  old  man.  Three-score  years  weigh  more 
heavily  on  me  than  on  others,  and  my  wife,  Miriam — ” 

“  My  name  is  Miriam,”  said  one  of  his  listeners,  inter¬ 
rupting  him  an  instant. 

44  The  God  of  Abraham  bless  you,”  said  he,  fervently, 
and  his  old  eyes  sought  her  slight  form,  and  he  seemed 
to  marvel  why  she  had  made  this  far  pilgrimage,  as  he 
continued,  “  and  take  you  to  your  distant  home  !  Why 
came  you  to  Jerusalem,  my  child?” 

It  was  the  second  time  in  our  wanderings  that  her  eyes 
had  won  her  such  a  blessing  from  the  old  and  feeble. 
Once  before,  in  Nubia,  an  old  woman,  to  whom  she 
threw  some  bread  and  money  from  the  boat,  blessed  her 
with  uplifted  hands,  and  prayed  that  God  would  take  her 
safely  to  her  mother.  The  old  man  looked  a  moment 
silentlv  at  her,  and  continued  : 

44  Miriam  was  as  slight  and  small  as  you,  but  her  face 
was  different.  She  had  the  features  of  Rachel,  I  used  to 
think,  and  now  that  I  was  old,  she,  as  old  in  years,  was 
younger  by  much  in  spirit,  and  she  would  sustain  and 
cheer  me  when  I  wras  fainting.  She  walked  with  me  that 
morning  in  the  late  spring,  and  had  spoken  often  on  the 
way,  of  the  bright  looks  of  our  youngest  child,  and  of 
every  thing  cheerful  that  she  could  think  of  to  rouse  my 
drooping  spirits. 

44  I  leaned  against  the  wall  of  an  old  house,  and  then  I 
asked  my  heart  what  all  this  was,  and  whether,  after  all,  I 
were  mistaken,  and  my  hope  was  vain.  It  behooved  me 
to  be  looking  around  for  some  certain  hope  beyond  the 
grave.  I  could  not  live  long,  I  thought,  and  perhaps 
this  pomp  and  grand  procession,  after  all,  might  not  be 
so  mere  a  pageant  as  I  had  thought  it. 

44  4  Miriam,’  said  I,  4  what  think  you  of  this  ?  Can  it  be 
that  our  Messiah  was  the  Nazarene  ?’ 

44  My  wife’s  eyes  looked  reprovingly  at  me.  I  had  never 


BEN  ISRAEL, 


m 

seen  them  look  thus  before  ;  they  were  always  beautiful, 
but  now  I  thought  them  glorious. 

44  4  And  yet  old  men,  and  learned,  and  valiant  soldiers, 
and  good  men  too,  believe  it.  See  them  kneel,  side  by 
side,  with  peasants  and  servants.  There  must  be  some¬ 
thing,  of  tremendous  power,  in  this  thing  that  we  despise.’ 

“But  Miriam  laughed  scornfully,  and,  as  the  Host 
passed  on,  I  stood  erect,  and  she  beside  me,  and  her 
flashing  eyes  caught  the  gaze  of  the  crowd  around.  One 
and  another  sought  to  pull  her  down.  Even  I,  weak  and 
frightened,  fell  on  my  knees ;  but  she  stood  firm,  and  said 
aloud  that  she  would  worship  none  but  the  Lord  our  God, 
and  when  a  barefooted  friar,  with  a  rope  girdle  and  a 
hempen  gown,  said,  4  That  is  our  Lord,’  she  replied  aloud, 
‘That!  that!’  and  laughed  scornfully  again.  The  friar 
said  to  her,  in  a  solemn  voice,  4  Whom  you  despise,  may 
the  God  of  Abraham  reveal  to  you  !’  At  that  moment 
there  came  across  the  grand  square,  mad  with  fury,  the 
horse  of  one  of  the  guard  of  the  pontiff.  His  flying 
hoofs  dashed  through  the  mass  of  living  men.  They 
pressed  and  thronged,  and  the  crowd  swayed  to  and  fro, 
and  I  heard  my  wife  wail  aloud,  and  the  blood  rushed 
from  her  lips  in  a  red  torrent,  and  she  fell  to  the  ground, 
and  the  trampling  feet  of  thousands  went  over  her. 

44  That  wail  rings  in  my  ears  to-day,  as  I  have  heard  it 
every  day  in  all  my  sad  life  since. 

44 1,  too,  fell  on  the  pavement,  and  clasped  her  body, 
and  sought  to  shield  her  with  my  feeble  arms,  but  alas !  in 
vain.  One  moment  only  I  saw  the  rushing  crowds — I 
heard  their  yells  of  fury — I  threw  my  arms  around  my 
wife — I  saw  the  red  blood  flow  down  her  face  from  a 
fierce  wound  in  her  white  temple,  and  after  that  I  saw 
nothing. 

44  When  I  became  sensible  of  this  miserable  existence  she 
was  lying  by  me  in  the  corner  of  the  street,  dead,  and  I 


172 


BEN  ISRAEL. 


wished  that  I  too  were  dead  with  my  wife  and  our  first 
child  Miriam. 

“After  that,  gathering  together  what  money  I  was  pos¬ 
sessed  of,  and  taking  my  young  children  by  the  hand,  I 
came  to  the  land  of  my  fathers  and  lived  in  Jerusalem. 
My  daughters  married  here,  and  had  children,  and  my 
daughters  and  their  children  are  here — -just  here.  I  am 
alone.  No  human  heart  beats  with  kindred  blood  to 
mine.  Wife,  children,  little  ones,  all  gone,  I  went  out  into 
the  world,  and  wandered  all  otfer  it.  I  sought  rest  every- 
-where,  but  my  heart  was  never  calm,  and  I  came  back  to 
die  under  the  shadow  of  the  hill  of  the  temple.  But  I  can 
not  die.  I  am  almost  a  hundred  years  old,  and  I  am — you 
see  what  I  am.  The  charity  of  the  monks  of  the  Terra 
Santa  supports  me  now.  I  sometimes  listen  to  them  when 
they  talk  of  the  crucified  son  of  Joseph,  and  I  sometimes 
wish  I  too  could  believe  that  the  Messiah  has  come,  and 
has  builded  already  the  other  Jerusalem  that  our  foot- 
weary  race  so  long  to  reach.” 

So  the  old  man  ended  his  story.  He  caught  my  eye  as 
it  swept  rapidly  back  and  forth  from  the  hill  of  the  temple 
to  the  hill  of  the  ascension,  and  he  divined  my  thoughts, 
but  shook  his  head  sadly,  and  stooping  down  plucked  a 
flower,  a  delicate  blue  anemone  blossom  that  grew  near 
his  feet  and  handed  it  to  Miriam. 

“There  is  not  so  much  difference  between  us  after  all. 
We  are  all  alike  wanderers  and  travelers;  we  seek  an¬ 
other  land,  and  sitting  in  this  valley  I  sometimes  am  able 
to  hear  the  voice  of  the  Lord  as  he  spoke  to  Daniel,  saying, 
‘  Go  thy  way  till  the  end  be,  for  thou  shalt  rest  and  stand 
in  thy  place  when  the  end  of  thy  days  cometh.’  That 
flower  grew  from  the  dust  of  one  who  was  beautiful  as 
the  morning  over  the  Mount  of  Olives.  Take  it  with  you, 
dear  lady,  and  when  you  pray,  ask  God  that  before  an- 


BEN  ISRAEL. 


178 


other  spring’s  flowers  bloom  in  the  valley  of  Jehoshaphat 
the  old  man  may  be  at  peace.” 

Many  times  since  then  I  have  seen  that  old  wanderer  in 
dreams.  Many  times  I  have  heard  his  melancholy  voice, 
and  have  wondered  whether  he  is  yet  at  rest. 


I l)e  Mo§ii  of 

The  Mesjid  el  Aksa,  the  central  building  in  which  is 
commonly  though  erroneously  called  the  mosk  of  Omar, 
has  for  many  centuries  been  barred  to  the  entrance  of 
Christians.  From  time  to  time,  travelers  visiting  Jerusa¬ 
lem  with  firmans  of  the  sultan  have  obtained  admittance 
#  to  the  Haram  (sacred)  inclosure  and  have  seen  portions  of 
it  under  strict  surveillance.  Mr.  Catherwood  effected  an 
entrance  by  representing  himself  as  authorized  by  Ibrahim 
Pasha  during  the  march  of  that  valiant  soldier  toward 
Jerusalem.  Since  that  time  the  English  and  other  resi¬ 
dent  missionaries  have  obtained  admission  on  divers  pre¬ 
texts,  but  not  to  make  thorough  and  careful  measure¬ 
ments  and  plans. 

During  the  past  year  the  Moslem  religion  throughout 
the  East  has  undergone  a  perceptible  relaxation  in  its  ex¬ 
clusive  character,  and  numerous  places  are  now  open  to 
Christians  in  it,  which  were  not  so  a  brief  space  of  time 
ago.  Thus  St.  Sophia  at  Constantinople  is  now  free  to  the 
entrance  of  any  stranger,  and  the  mosk  of  Sultan  Achmet 
is  open  to  the  intrusive  gaze  of  all  who  visit  the  sultan’s  city. 

The  mosk  of  Omar  is  not  yet  open  to  such  visits,  but 
the  pasha  of  Jerusalem  has  taken  the  responsibility  of 
admitting  one  or  two  parties  of  travelers,  and  had  over¬ 
come  or  forbidden  the  usual  demonstrations  of  disrespect 


MOSK  OF  OMAR. 


175 


in  which  the  Turks  are  wont  to  indulge  in  the  presence 
of  Infidels  on  holy  ground. 

Having  heard  of  these  instances  of  liberality,  we  thought 
it  not  improbable  that  we  should  succeed  in  obtaining  a 
similar  order  from  the  pasha  for  our  own  party,  especially 
as  we  had  in  the  party  our  well-known  consul  at  Alex¬ 
andria,  whose  popularity  is  great  in  the  Levant,  as  well 
as  a  near  relative  of  the  United  States  minister  at  Con¬ 
stantinople,  whose  dignified  and  manly  representation  of 
American  interests  during  the  recent  troublous  times  has 
won  him  a  name  in  the  East  not  inferior  to  that  of  any 
foreign  minister  at  the  court  of  Abdul  Medjid. 

Upon  sending  the  request  to  the  pasha,  we  were  in¬ 
formed  that  he  was  absent  at  Uablous.  The  American 
'agent  at  Jerusalem  undertook  the  management  of  the 
affair,  and  brought  back  for  answer  that  the  request  had 
been  forwarded  by  an  express  messenger  to  the  pasha  and 
an  answer  might  be  expected  the  next  day.  I  had  reason 
to  doubt  whether  this  had  been  done,  and  subsequently 
learned  that  it  had  not,  but  that  difficulties  were  thrown 
in  the  way  for  the  purpose  of  making  the  favor  appear 
greater  and  proportionately  increasing  the  bucksheesh. 
A  party  of  American  gentlemen  had  arrived  in  J erusalem 
a  day  before  us,  and  were  still  there,  and  these  gentlemen 
we  had  invited  to  join  us  in  the  visit  should  our  demand 
be  successful.  We  had  previously  learned  that  the  buck¬ 
sheesh  paid  by  the  parties  of  English  travelers  who  had 
been  admitted  had  amounted  to  one  pound  for  each  per¬ 
son,  and  we  had  expressed  to  the  agent  our  willingness  to 
pay  the  same  amount.  Hints  that  four  or  five  pounds 
each  from  distinguished  travelers  was  not  too  much,  were 
intended  to  move  our  pride  and  open  our  purses,  but  we 
were  old  hands  at  flattery  and  bucksheesh.  We  had  not 
been  five  months  in  Egypt  without  cutting  our  wisdom, 
teeth. 


176 


MOSK  OF  OMAR. 


The  second  day  came,  but  the  messenger  from  the 
pasha  had  not  returned,  and  the  next  morning  was  the 
last  which  some  of  our  friends  could  remain  in  Jerusalem. 
Early  in  the  forenoon  they  assembled  at  the  house  of 
Antonio,  and  great  was  the  fuss  and  fury  of  the  agent, 
and  greater  still  of  the  cawass  of  the  consulate,  who  had 
suddenly  swelled  from  a  piastre  and  a  half  bucksheesh 
expectant,  to  the  full  size  of  a  silver  dollar  a-piece  de- 
mander. 

At  ten  o’clock,  as  we  were  taking  our  last  chibouk  full 
of  Latakea  on  the  diwans  in  our  dining  room,  and  laughing 
heartily  at  the  grotesque  costumes  and  appearance  of  a 
dozen  American  gentlemen,  whose  friends  would  cer¬ 
tainly  never  have  recognized  them,  while  they  certainly 
would  not  have  known  themselves  in  a  respectable  New 
York  mirror,  in  rushed  the  breathless  agent  of  Uncle 
Sam,  and  with  a  mixture  of  broken  English,  bad  Arabic, 
and  Armenian  spoiled  by  the  mixture,  assured  us  that  al¬ 
though  the  letter  had  arrived  from  the  pasha  granting 
full  permission  of  entry,  and  the  kahir,  the  governor  pro 
tem .,  would  admit  the  two  American  gentlemen  who  had 
official  character,  but  was  unwilling  to  take  the  responsi¬ 
bility  of  so  large  a  party,  especially  as  the  blacks,  the 
servants  of  all  great  mosks  (for  the  Turks  guard  their 
holy  places  as  they  do  their  women,  with  eunuchs),  were 
in  a  state  of  uproar  and  excitement,  and  would  inevitably 
kill  if  they  did  not  actually  devour  every  mother’s  son 
of  us. 

I  had  been  all  along  fully  prepared  for  this  result,  and 
while  the  disappointed  party  were  discussing  the  question 
of  increasing  the  bucksheesh,  which  was  the  object  of  the 
whole  affair,  I  slipped  out  of  the  room  and  down  into  the 
court-yard. 

My  dragoman,  Abd-el-Atti,  had  been  a  calm  observer 
pf  all  the  operation  for  three  days,  and  had  several  times 


MUSK  OF  OMAR. 


177 


hinted  to  me  that  it  was  not  likely  to  be  a  successful  ne¬ 
gotiation.  But  he  had  not  interfered  at  all,  though  I 
saw  that  he  was  perceptibly  annoyed  at  the  predomi¬ 
nance  we  were  allowing  our  Christian  agent  to  take  in 
the  matter. 

I  found  Abd-el-Atti  in  his  favorite  employment,  with 
his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  a  cigar  in  his  mouth,  cursing 
the  market-men,  and  relic-venders  that  filled  the  court¬ 
yard.  I  knew  that  it  was  not  in  vain  to  set  him  at  work, 
for  as  yet  he  had  never  failed  me. 

I  directed  him  to  go  instantly  to  Hashim  Aga  the  Bim 
pasha — the  commander  of  the  soldiers  in  garrison  in  Je¬ 
rusalem — and  inform  him  of  our  dilemma,  and  tell  him 
as  delicately  as  possible  that  there  was  a  very  easy  way 
of  his  pocketing  ten  or  fifteen  pounds  by  way  of  buck- 
sheesh,  while  the  immediate  secretary  and  agents  of  the 
governor  were  trying  to  make  it  larger  for  their  own 
loose  shirt  bosoms. 

The  idea  proved  lucky.  In  ten  minutes  he  returned, 
and  with  him  again  the  American  agent,  who  had  joined 
forces  with  him,  to  his  intense  disgust,  and  informed  us 
that  the  Bim  pasha  would  meet  us  at  the  gate  of  the 
mosk  inclosure  known  as  the  Bab-el-Guanimi,  adjoining 
the  government  house,  which  occupies  nearly  the  site  of 
the  ancient  tower  of  Antonia,  at  the  north-west  corner 
of  the  temple  area.  Assembling  our  friends  without  de¬ 
lay,  we  marched  in  procession  to  the  gate,  which  was 
opened  as  we  approached,  and  we  found  a  file  of  fifty 
soldiers  waiting  to  escort  ns  through  the  sacred  places. 
Parting,  twenty-five  on  each  side  of  us,  they  marched 
forward,  and  we  advanced  into  the  great  court. 

It  was  with  no  ordinary  emotions  that  I  set  foot  on  the 
holy  soil  of  Mount  Moriah.  If  antiquity  can  invest  any 
spot  with  especial  interest,  this,  of  all  places  of  the  earth, 
is  the  spot.  From  the  interrupted  offering  of  Isaac  to 

8* 


178 


oma  li¬ 


the  day  when  the  daily  sacrifice  was  suspended  in  the 
temple  by  the  army  of  Titus,  this  hill  was,  of  all  earthly 
hills,  most  holy,  and  a  Christian  or  a  Jew  might  be  par¬ 
doned  for  thinking  of  it,  as  the  Moslems  of  the  garden 
of  Medinah,  that  it  is  a  veritable  extract  out  of  the  lands 
of  heaven.  With  its  history  during  the  existence  of  the 
Jewish  nation  all  readers  are  familiar,  and  no  one  needs 
to  be  reminded  that  the  Salem  of  Melchisedec,  the 
threshing-floor  of  Araunali  at  Jebus,  in  the  time  of 
David,  and  the  holy  hill  of  Solomon,  are  all  acknowl¬ 
edged  to  be  identical  with  the  Mount  Moriah  and  Mes- 
jid  El  Aksa  of  the  present  day.  Of  the  fact  that  this  is 
the  site  of  the  temple  of  Solomon  there  is  no  dispute. 

When  Omar  conquered  Jerusalem,  the  noble  successor 
of  the  prophet  refused  to  pray  at  the  Holy  Sepulchre, 
lest,  he  said,  his  followers  should  make  that  a  pretext  for 
ejecting  the  Christians  after  his  death.  But  he  com¬ 
manded  them  to  show  him  the  spot  where  Solomon’s 
temple  had  stood,  which  he  described  as  “  the  mosk  of 
David.”  They  led  him  from  place  to  place  until  they 
reached  Moriah,  when  he  recognized  the  spot,  which  he 
professed  Mohammed  himself  had  described  to  him, 
though  the  prophet  had  never  been  in  Jerusalem.  This 
spot,  marked  in  Roman  times  by  a  temple  of  Venus, 
erected  by  Hadrian,  had  been  in  later  Christian  days  a 
place  for  the  deposit  of  all  manner  of  filth,  whereby  the 
Christians  were  accustomed  to  express  their  detestation 
of  the  murderers  of  their  Lord.  In  such  condition  Omar 
found  it,  and  caused  it  to  be  cleansed  of  its  impurities, 
working  thereat  with  his  own  hands,  and  commanded 
the  erection  of  a  mosk  on  the  great  rock  which  was  ex¬ 
posed  to  view  in  the  centre  of  the  inclosure. 

There  are  conflicting  accounts  of  the  manner  in  which 
Omar  discovered  the  spot.  The  substance  of  them  all  is 
that  he  was  led  up  steps,  down  which  water  was  then 


DOME  OF  THE  ROCK. 


179 


running,  to  an  open  area,  where  he  found  himself  before 
a  large  church.  This  church  he  immediately  appro¬ 
priated  to  the  purposes  of  the  Mussulmans,  and  in  the 
open  space  in  front  of  it,  on  the  great  rock,  Es  Sukhrah, 
founded  a  building  which  was.  displaced  fifty  years  after¬ 
ward  by  the  Sultan  Abd-el-Meluk,  who  erected  the 
splendid  building  which  has  ever  since  then  stood  on 
the  spot,  and  is  now  incorrectly  called  the  Mosk  of 
Omar.  To  Mussulmans  this  is  known  as  El-Kubbet- 
es-Sukhrah,  the  Dome  of  the  Rock.  I  have  never  heard 
it  called  by  them  a  mosk,  but  the  great  church,  to  the 
door  of  which  Omar  was  led,  and  in  which  he  prayed,  is 
a  mosk,  and  one  portion  of  it,  as  will  hereafter  appear,  is 
called  the  praying-place  of  Omar.  From  this,  doubtless, 
the  misnomer  of  the  central  building  arose.  The  latter 
is,  in  fact,  like  the  holy  places  in  the  great  mosks  at 
Mecca  and  Medinah,  which  are  not  spoken  of  as  mosks 
but  as  sacred  buildings.  This  is  third  in  the  Moslem 
world,  Mecca  being  first,  and  Medinah  second.  But 
here  it  should  be  remembered  that  the  Moslems  do  not 
speak  of  the  Kubbet-es-Sukhrah  as  the  holy  place,  but 
the  Mesjid-el-Aksa,  which  is  a  name  including  the  entire 
hill  of  Moriah  as  well  as  the  Kubbet-es-Sukhrah  and  the 
mosk  (Jamy)-el-Aksa. 

On  entering  the  gate  we  found  ourselves  in  a  vast  in¬ 
closure,  oblong  in  shape,  with  nearly  rectangular  corners. 
The  longest  sides  are  north  and  south  ;  the  shorter,  east 
and  west.  The  length  is  not  far  from  fifteen  hundred 
feet,  and  breadth  about  a  thousand ;  but  the  north  end  is 
much  wider  than  the  southern.  All  this  space  is  sacred ; 

■  and  from  even  its  gates,  in  former  years,  the  Mussulmans 
have  driven  all  Christians  and  Jews  with  stones  and 
weapons  of  death — a  practice  which  they  still  continue, 
and  from  which  we  were  protected  only  by  the  presence 
of  our  worthy  friend  the  Bim  pasha’s  colonel  and  his 


180 


BOOTS. 


guard,  whose  bayonets  would  have  been  ugly  customers 
for  the  Moslems  to  deal  with,  especially  with  the  assur¬ 
ance  of  a  bastinado  as  the  inevitable  result  of  an  attack. 

There  are  several  low  buildings,  colleges,  and  religious 
foundations  of  various  names,  but  of  no  special  interest, 
here  and  there  within  the  inclosure,  especially  on  the 
northern  and  western  sides.  The  east  wall,  which  is  the 
east  wall  of  the  city,  overhangs  the  great  valley  of  Jeho- 
shaphat,  and  the  south  wall  crosses  the  ridge  of  Moriah, 
which  extends  outside  the  city  for  a  fourth  of  a  mile  fur¬ 
ther,  and  beyond  the  fountain  of  Siloam.  Along  part  of 
the  south  wall  are  large  buildings,  of  which  hereafter. 

In  the  centre  of  the  inclosure  is  a  platform  of  pavement, 
raised  above  the  surrounding  ground,  and  very  elegantly 
finished  and  ornamented.  This  great  terrace,  which  is 
five  hundred  and  fifty  feet  long  by  four  hundred  and  fifty 
broad,  is  not  precisely  in  the  middle  of  the  area,  but  is 
somewhat  nearer  the  western  and  northern  sides.  This 
pavement  is  in  general  about  fifteen  feet  above  the  sur¬ 
rounding  surface  of  the  ground,  from  which  it  may  be 
reached  by  eight  flights  of  steps,  three  on  the  west,  one 
on  the  east,  two  on  the  north,  and  two  on  the  south. 

We  approached  the  north  flight,  on  the  western  side; 
and  here,  before  we  mounted  the  last  step  of  the  rise,  we 
removed  our  boots,  replacing  them  with  slippers,  with 
which  we  had  provided  ourselves. 

I  had  brought  Ferrajj,  my  prince  of  blacks,  with  me, 
and  handing  him  my  boots,  thought  no  more  of  them  till 
I  was  ready  to  leave  the  in  closure,  some  hours  later, 
when  he  returned  them  to  me.  Not  so  fortunate  were 
some  of  our  American  friends,  who,  trusting  to  the  sacred 
place,  and  the  strict  honesty  of  the  Mohammedans,  left 
their  boots  on  the  upper  step.  When  they  came  back  for 
them,  they  were  not  there.  Divers  were  the  demands 
they  made,  and  fierce  the  American  threats  they  showered 


SHEIK  MOHAMMED. 


181 


in  pure  English  on  the  heads  of  the  surrounding  followers 
of  the  Prophet,  who  showed  no  sign  of  interest,  and 
neither  smiled  nor  frowned.  The  old  rascals  knew  well 
where  the  hoots  were  gone,  but  they  looked,  if  they  did 
not  recommend,  resignation  to  the  will  of  Allah ;  and  our 
friends  were  left  to  imagine  that  their  boots  had  gone  on 
the  Prophet’s  mission  to  heaven  from  Moriah.  I  don’t 
think  they  were  stolen  for  the  sake  of  the  boots,  but  they 
were  taken  to  annoy  the  Christians. 

The  building  known  as  the  Mosk  of  Omar  stands  in  the 
centre  of  the  platform.  It  is  an  octagon  of  sixty-seven 
feet  on  a  side,  the  walls  of  which  are  constructed  of 
various  colored  marble,  rising  forty-six  feet  from  the 
ground  or  platform,  and  supporting  here  a  circular  wall 
which  rises  about  twenty-five  feet  further.  Upon  this  the 
beautiful  dome  is  built,  about  forty  feet  higher  still,  mak¬ 
ing  a  total  of  about  one  hundred  and  ten  feet  from  the 
pavement  to  the  top  of  the  dome.  Inscriptions  in  a  sort 
of  porcelain  mosaic  run  around  the  walls ;  and  the  whole 
appearance  at  a  little  distance  is  very  rich ;  but  on  ap¬ 
proaching  nearer  it  seems  sadly  out  of  repair. 

We  entered  from  the  western  side  of  the  building, 
pushing  aside  a  heavy  curtain  that  hung  over  the  door¬ 
way,  and  which  a  man  could  with  difficulty  lift.  Here 
we  were  met  by  old  Sheik  Mohammed  Dunnuf,  the  pre¬ 
siding  genius  of  the  place,  who  I  believe  was  a  man  of 
sincere  religious  feelings.  The  old  man  afterward  ex¬ 
plained  to  me  that  he  did  not.  think  there  was  any  reason 
for  refusing  to  permit  Christians  to  enter  these  places,  but 
that  he  was  always  grieved  to  see  profane  eyes  turned  in 
idle  curiosity  to  what  he  had  been  accustomed  to  vene¬ 
rate.  He  received  us  cordially,  and  led  us,  as  we  desired, 
from  place  to  place  within  the  building. 

The  object  of  chief  interest  here  is,  of  course,  Es  Sukh- 
rah,  the  Rock,  over  which  the  Home  is  built,  and  which  a 


182 


THE  M  O  S  K  . 


tradition  says  that  Mohammed  called  one  of  the  rocks 
of  paradise.  Two  circular  aisles  surround  it.  Sixteen 
columns  and  eight  piers,  which  support  pointed  arches 
and  the  high  circular  wall  under  the  dome,  divide  one 
aisle  from  the  other. 

The  Rock  stands  out  in  the  centre  of  the  building,  in  the 
naked  deformity  of  a  huge  mass  of  Jerusalem  limestone. 
It  is  surrounded  by  a  costly  iron  railing,  and  canopied 
Avith  cloths,  of  Avhich  I  could  not  in  the  gloom  perceive 
the  nature. 

There  Avere  fifty  or  more  Mussulmans  in  the  building 
when  we  entered ;  and  as  Ave  approched  the  rock  they 
turned  their  eyes  on  us  furiously.  It  was  certainly  a 
breach  of  privilege  in  their  vieAV  that  they  Avere  not  per¬ 
mitted  to  stone  us  then  and  there,  as  dead  as  Stephen. 

•  NotAvithstanding  their  presence,  hoAvever,  Ave  leaned 
against  the  iron  lattice-work  and  gazed  with  an  indescri¬ 
bable  interest  on  that  stone  tOAvard  Avhich  more  devout 
men  had  kneeled,  Avhen  they  prayed  to  God,  than  toward 
any  other  holy  place  on  the  surface  of  the  earth. 

There  has  been  no  age  of  the  world,  since  the  time  of 
David,  when  there  have  not  been  hearts  yearning  toward 
the  rock  of  the  temple.  No  period  Avhen  somewhere  on 
its  broad  surface  there  have  not  been  men  dying  with 
faces  turned  thitherward,  and  dim  eyes  gazing  through 
tears  or  through  the  films  of  death  to  catch,  Avith  the 
first  poAver  of  supernatural  vision,  the  longed-for  vieAv  of 
the  threshing-floor  of  the  Jebusite,  the  holy  of  holies  of 
Solomon.  Blessed  Avere  our  eyes  that  in  the  flesh  beheld 
the  spot  where  the  daily  incense  Avas  Avont  to  be  offered, 
Avhere  the  ark  of  God  for  so  many  generations  rested, 
where  the  cherubim  overhung  the  altar,  and  the  visible 
glory  of  Jehovah  Avas  Avont  to  be  seen  by  the  eyes  of 
sinful  men. 

Jews  and  Mohammedans  alike  believe  in  the  sacredness 


( 


) 


THE  ROCK  OF  THE  TEMPLE.  18-3 

of  this  rock,  and  the  former  have  faith  that  the  ark  is 
within  its  bosom  now.  It  is  a  faith  that  needs  not  much 
argument  to  sustain.  I  know  not  why  we  should  believe 
that  the  rod  of  Aaron  and  the  pot  of  manna,  that  were  so 
long  preserved,  should  have  been  suffered  to  go  to  dust 
at  last ;  nor  can  I  assign  any  date  to  such  a  change  in  the 
miraculous  intentions  of  God.  It  is  pleasant  to  believe 
that  somewhere  on  or  in  the  earth  those  relics  of  his  ter¬ 
rible  judgments,  as  well  as  of  his  merciful  dealings,  are  pre¬ 
served  ;  and  I  am  not  disposed  to  dispute  the  Jew  who 
believes  them  to  be  in  the  rocky  heart  of  Es  Sukhrah. 

The  rock  stands  about  six  feet  above  the  floor  of  the 
mosk.  It  is  irregular  in  form ;  a  mass  of  some  fifty  by 
forty  feet.  The  building  is  gorgeously  ornamented,  in 
the  style  of  the  early  Christian  and  Moslem  buildings, 
with  gilded  mosaic  work,  covering  almost  the  entire 
walls.  Here  and  there  pieces  of  antique  marble  and 
porphyry  are  let  into  the  walls,  as  if  to  preserve  them ; 
and  these,  and  some  of  the  columns  supporting  the  pointed 
arches,  are,  without  doubt,  relics  of  some  older  building, 
possibly  and  probably  of  the  temple  itself. 

There  is  underneath  the  western  side  of  the  building  a 
crypt,  or  vault,  which  is  still  the  holy  of  holies.  I  had 
heard  much  of  this  among  Moslems,  though  no  traveler 
has  mentioned  it.  Sheik  Mohammed  told  me  that  it 
contained  the  armor  of  no  less  a  person  than  Ali  him¬ 
self;  relics  which  came  into  the  possession  of  the  Jerusa¬ 
lem  Haram  by  some  process  that  I  could  learn  nothing 
of,  but  which  are  esteemed  among  the  followers  of  the 
Prophet  as  beyond  price.  When  we  approached  the 
doorway  that  descends  into  the  vault  where  these  trea¬ 
sures  are  kept,  I  endeavored  to  persuade  the  sheik  to  take 
us  down  the  steps ;  but  he  most  skillfully  evaded  the  de¬ 
mand,  by  assuring  us  that  the  door  of  entrance  was  else¬ 
where,  by  which  he  would  take  us  down,  and  then  lead- 


184 


CAVE  UNDER  THE  ROCK, 


ing  off  in  another  direction.  Abd-el-Atti  called  my  at¬ 
tention  to  the  manoeuvre ;  but  assured  me  that  it  was  of 
no  use  to  ask  him,  as  he  would  never  consent  to  admit 
us  there,  since  no  one  was  admitted  but  a  sultan  or  a  man 
of  the  highest  rank  for  piety  and  learning.  The  nearest 
approach  that  I  could  make  to  it,  was  the  obtaining  of 
two  curious  prints,  which  are  given  to  Mohammedans 
only,  but  which  I  became  possessed  of  in  the  usual  manner, 
which  operate  as  certificates  of  pilgrimage  to  El  Kubbet  Es 
Sukhrah,  and  which  profess  to  represent  the  sword,  the 
gauntlets,  the  shield,  and  other  armor  of  the  valiant  son- 
in-law  and  successor  of  the  Prophet.  Each  article  is  pro¬ 
fusely  covered  with  inscriptions,  all  to  the  glory  of  God 
and  Mohammed.  Whether  there  are  in  reality  any  such, 
arms  preserved  in  the  vault  as  these  pictures  would  seem 
to  indicate,  or  whether  it  is  all  a  deceit,  is  a  question  I 
leave  for  decision  to  those  who,  in  later  times,  will  find 
free  access  to  all  parts  of  the  Kubbet  Es  Sukhrah. 

While  standing  here,  I  heard  a  disturbance  at  the  other 
side  of  the  building,  toward  which  some  of  our  party  had 
moved;  and,  hastening  thither,  found  that  some  of  the 
spectators  had  evinced  a  disposition  to  interfere  with  the 
progress  of  our  investigations,  when  they  found  the 
Christians  about  to  descend  into  the  cave  under  the  great 
rock.  But  a  sharp  order  from  the  officer  in  command  of 
the  detachment,  and  the  advance  of  a  dozen  men,  quieted 
the  disturbance,  and  cleared  the  steps,  by  which  we  de¬ 
scended  into  the  cavern. 

This  is  a  curious  chamber  underneath  the  great  rock 
itself,  surrounded  and  inclosed  by  stone  walls,  reaching 
from  the  floor  to  the  under  side  of  the  rock.  Let  it  be 
distinctly  marked,  that  Sheik  Mohammed  Dunnuf  assured 
me  solemnly,  again  and  again,  that  the  rock  hangs  in  the 
air  seven  feet  above  the  ground,  of  its  own  power  or  the 
power  of  God,  and  is  not  supported  by  this  wall,  even  to 


PRAYING-PLACE  OF  JESUS 


185 


the  amount  of  a  half  ounce.  The  wall  is  built  up  only  to 
prevent  the  rock  falling,  in  case  the  power  should  for  any 
cause  be  withdrawn,  and,  as  some  unlucky  Moslem  might 
be  underneath  at  that  moment,  the  result  would  be  disas¬ 
trous  if  the  wall  were  not  there.  In  this  cavern  Mohammed 
rested  on  that  eventful  night  of  which  he  related  the 
history,  and  thereby  lost  many  of  his  most  faithful  friends, 
who  could  not  believe  such  a  miracle.  For  he  said  that 
he  rode  from  Mecca  to  Jerusalem  in  a  single  night,  and 
rested  a  little  while  there,  and  thence  he  rode  to  heaven  ; 
and,  if  Abubekr  had  not  expressed  his  readiness  to  swear 
to  any  thing  Mohammed  said,  it  is  probable  that  tins 
would  have  been  the  end  of  his  mission 

In  this  case  Gabriel  brought  him  the  horse  to  go  on 
upward,  and  there  is  a  hole  through  the  rock  through 
which  he  passed.  As  he  went,  the  rock  followed  him, 
lifting  itself  into  the  air ;  but  he  commanded  it  to  pause, 
and  it  paused  just  there,  and  there  hangs  in  the  air;  and 
he  is  a  vile  skeptic  who  believes  that  those  stone  walls 
built  under  it  have  any  thing  to  do  to  keep  it  there,  and 
may  the  curse  of  God  and  the  Prophet  be  on  him  if  he 
persists  in  his  infidelity. 

The  cave,  or  room,  under  the  rock,  contains  two  points 
of  interest  in  Mohammedan  tradition.  The  one,  a  niche, 
which  they  say  was  the  praying-place  of  Solomon ;  and 
the  other,  a  similar  spot,  which  they  say  was  made  holy 
by  the  knees  of  Isa  ben  Maryam,  Jesus  the  son  of  Mary. 

The  Mohammedan  faith  in  Jesus  Christ  is  a  subject  of 
curious  interest.  The  koran,  the  invention  of  Moham¬ 
med  and  Abubekr,  by  no  means  attempts  to  do  away 
with  the  old  religions  of  men,  nor  was  Mohammedanism 
the  establishment  of  a  new  faith.  It  is  only  claimed  for 
Mohammed  that  he  was  a  better  teacher  of  religion  than 
his  predecessors,  and  that  God  inspired  him  to  be  the 
teacher  of  his  race  in  the  true  doctrines  which  he  ex- 


186 


PULPIT  OF  DAVID. 


tracted  from  Judaism,  Christianity,  and  a  little  Paganism- 
Hence,  he  refers  constantly  to  Jesus;  but,  only  as  a 
prophet,  not  as  divine.  His  mission  from  God  is  ac¬ 
knowledged  ;  his  crucifixion  denied,  on  the  ground  that 
God  substituted  another  for  him;  and  his  ascension, 
without  death,  believed  in  by  some,  but  doubted  by 
others.  All  orthodox  Mussulmans  believe  that  Jesus  is  to 
return  to  earth  before  the  judgment,  to  die  and  be  buried 
at  Medinah,  in  the  great  mosk  close  behind  Mohammed. 
The  doctrine  of  the  atonement  is,  of  course,  wholly  un¬ 
known  to  them,  and  Jesus  is  made  the  equal,  if  not  a  little 
less,  than  the  camel-driver  of  Mecca. 

Returning  to  the  level  of  the  mosk  floor,  we  found  two 
or  three  hundred  persons  present,  who  eyed  us  with  no 
friendly  feelings,  but  offered  no  insults.  I  made  now  a 
new  attempt  to  induct  the  sheik  to  show  me  the  arms  of 

Ali,  but  in  vain ;  and  after  a  deliberate  examination  of 

« 

the  architectural  details  of  the  mosk,  we  sallied  out  of  the 
southern  door  in  a  body,  the  soldiers  following  us,  and 
the  old  sheik  leading  the  way. 

During  the  visit  to  the  Dome  of  the  Rock,  we  saw  noth¬ 
ing  of  the  blacks  whose  famous  bigotry  we  had  been 
warned  to  beware  of,  and  I  strongly  inclined  to  doubt 
whether  there  are  any  of  them  now  in  Jerusalem.  But 
Hashirn  Aga  assured  us  that  he  had  locked  them  up, 
every  soul  of  them,  and  perhaps  he  had,  but  his  saying  so 
did  not  prove  it. 

We  now  passed  across  the  southern  part  of  the  plat¬ 
form,  and  arrived  at  the  steps,  near  which  is  a  marble 
pulpit  called  the  Pulpit  of  David,  wherefore  I  know  not, 
unless  from  some  fancied  connection  with  another  small 
building  in  the  east  of  the  mosk,  known  as  the  Dome  of 
the  Chain,  and  also  as  the  judgment  seat  of  David.  De¬ 
scending  the  steps,  we  passed  a  marble  fountain,  sur¬ 
rounded  by  orange  and  other  trees,  but  quite  dry,  and  then 


THE  TEMPLE. 


187 


the  mouths  of  several  cisterns,  all  full  of  rain  water.  The 
surface  water  of  the  entire  mosk  inclosure  runs  into  these 
and  other  cisterns  which  we  saw  here  and  there  about  it. 

Our  course  was  toward  the  southern  side  of  the  area, 
where  several  large  and  imposing  buildings  attract  the 
attention  of  all  visitors  to  Jerusalem,  especially  in  the 
‘  view  from  the  Mount  of  Olives.  These  are  by  far  the 
most  interesting  buildings  in  the  temple  inclosure. 

The  chief  of  them  is  the  great  church  we  have  before 
referred  to,  commonly  called  the  Mosk  el  Aksa.  The  en¬ 
tire  area  of  the  temple  is,  as  I  have  remarked,  known  as 
El  Mesjid  el  Aksa,  that  is,  “  The  Holy  Place  the  most  re¬ 
mote,”  being  so  called  in  reference  to  the  Kaaba  at  Mecca, 
the  centre  of  Islam,  and  the  Prophet’s  Mosk  at  Medina, 
the  nearest  holy  place  to  Mecca. 

In  the  middle  of  the  sixth  century,  the  Emperor  Jus¬ 
tinian  erected  this  building  in  honor  of  the  Virgin  Mary. 
Its  magnificent  size  and  stately  splendor  have  preserved 
it  intact  through  all  the  changes  which  Jerusalem  has  un¬ 
dergone.  The  length  of  the  building  from  north  to  south, 
is  two  hundred  and  eighty  feet,  and  its  breadth,  one  hun¬ 
dred  and  ninety  feet,  as  given  by  Mr.  Catherwood,  who 
measured  it. 

We  paused  a  moment  before  its  grand  portico,  cover¬ 
ing  the  entire  width  of  the  mosk,  and  built  in  seven  divis¬ 
ions.  The  architecture  it  is  difficult  to  divine.  The  old 
Gothic  is  manifest  as  the  leading  characteristic,  but  the 
Saracen  is  curiously  intermingled  with  it.  Entering  by 
the  centre  doorway,  we  found  ourselves  in  a  grand  nave, 
extending  the  whole  length  of  the  building,  supported  on 
each  side  by  seven  columns  and  pointed  arches.  The 
columns  are  gigantic  masses  of  stone.  Each  column 
bore,  in  immense  characters,  the  name  of  a  prophet  or  a 
caliph,  so  that  the  white  walls  of  the  building  were  desti¬ 
tute  of  all  ornament,  except  only  the  names  “  Moham- 


188 


THE  TEMPLE. 


med,”  “  Omar,”  “  Jesus”  and  on  one  column,  “Allah.” 
There  are  three  side  aisles  on  each  side  the  nave,  of  which 
one,  on  the  left  as  we  entered,  was  walled  off  from  the 
body  of  the  church  for  the  women,  and  this  interrupted 
the  complete  sweep  of  the  eye  through  the  whole  build¬ 
ing,  which  was  otherwise  one  of  the  most  imposing  that  I 
know  of;  scarcely  inferior  to  the  splendid  Basilica  of  St.' 
Paul,  at  Rome,  which  is  the  finest  specimen  of  religious 
architecture  in  the  world.  The  single  and  serene  grand¬ 
eur  of  the  building  was  impressive  in  the  extreme.  At 
the  southern  end,  the  nave  is  crossed  by  a  transept,  which 
we  reached  after  a  slow  walk  down  the  nave  and  in  the 
aisles,  and  turning  here  to  the  left,  we  entered  a  low 
chamber  of  stone,  eighty-five  feet  long,  which  is  called  the 
praying-place  of  Omar.  The  tradition  says  that  he  was 
accustomed  to  pray  in  this  spot  regularly  during  his  stay 
in  Jerusalem,  and  this  is  probably  true. 

The  western  transept  led  us  into  a  long  and  very  nar¬ 
row  mosk,  known  as  that  of  Abubekr,  which  again  leads 
into  a  very  long  mosk,  running  northward,  and  parallel 
with  El  Aksa,  being  quite  as  long,  but  very  narrow,  and 
known  as  the  Mosk  of  the  Mograbbin,  or  Moors.  This 
latter  we  did  not  enter  for  lack  of  time. 

In  the  Mosk  of  Omar,  last  mentioned,  I  observed  many 
small  marble  columns,  set  in  the  side  walls,  which  were  evi¬ 
dently  of  ancient  origin,  and  I  incline  to  think  many  of 
the  other  portions  of  this  great  building  may  have  be¬ 
longed  to  its  predecessor,  the  temple  of  the  JewTs.  Re¬ 
turning  through  the  great  nave,  we  paused  a  moment  at 
a  tomb-like  structure,  near  the  door,  known  as  the  tomb 
of  Aaron,  a  name  by  no  means  corresponding  with  a  tra¬ 
dition  I  had  before  heard,  that  Moses  buried  Aaron  at 
Medinah,  on  Mount  Ohod.  But  Moslems  do  not  always 
adhere  to  the  same  traditions  in  various  places. 

Coming  out  of  the  front  of  the  mosk,  and  going  a  few’ 


CRYPTS  UNDER  THE  TEMPLE. 


189 


feet  to  the  eastward  of  the  centre,  we  descended  a  stair¬ 
case  in  the  ground,  and  entering  a  heavy  door,  found 
ourselves  in  the  famous  crypts  under  the  Mosk  El  Aksa, 
which  have  afforded  subjects  of  speculation  to  Orientalists 
for  so  long  a  time.  A  broad  avenue  was  before  us,  dark, 
indeed,  but  sufficiently  lighted  by  our  numerous  candles, 
down  which  we  slowly  walked  toward  the  southern  end  of 
the  mosk.  The  passage  in  which  we*  were  descending, 
sometimes  by  an  inclined  plane,  and  twice,  at  least,  by 
steps,  was  supported  on  both  sides  by  heavy  columns  of 
stone  built  up  and  connecting  with  each  other  by  low 
round  arches.  These  arches  were  closed  up  with  loose, 
dry  stone  walls,  and  on  asking  what  was  beyond,  we  were 
told  that  there  were  large  cisterns  of  water  on  both  sides, 
which,  on  surface  examination,  I  judged  to  be  true.  The 
middle  of  this  passage  was  supported  by  two  rows  of 
massive  monolithic  round  columns,  every  four  columns 
supporting  a  dome-shaped  arch,  of  large  stones,  radi¬ 
ating  exactly  from  the  key-stone,  which  was  always 
a  single  round  block,  some  six  feet  in  diameter.  This 
very  peculiar  style  of  supporting  a  roof  is  worthy  of  care¬ 
ful  remark,  inasmuch  as  I  have  never  found  it  except  here, 
and  in  the  hewn  tombs  in  the  rock  on  the  hill-side  of 
Aceldama.  More  extensive  observation  may  show  it 
elsewhere,  but  I  regard  it  as  very  probable  that  this  is  a 
style  of  art  indicating  cotemporaneous  origin  in  the  build¬ 
ings  and  tombs  to  which  I  refer. 

The  pillars  which  support  this  vault  are  very  massive, 
measuring,  many  of  them,  eighteen  feet  six  inches  in  cir¬ 
cumference.  Their  size  is  not  strictly  uniform,  some  be¬ 
ing  smaller  than  this.  Their  capitals  are  rude  and  simple, 
and  I  think  indicate  that  they  were  constructed  for  the 
purpose  they  now  answer. 

As  we  descended  toward  the  east  the  arches  on  the 
sides  disappeared,  and  we  found  stone  walls  built  up  of 


190 


CRYPTS  UNDER  THE  TEMPLE. 


immense  stones  such  as  abound  outside  in  the  great  walls 
of  the  temple  inclosure,  and  at  length  we  reached  a  sort 
of  large  chamber,  of  which  the  roof  was  supported  by 
such  arches  as  I  have  described. 

From  this,  opening  southward,  was  a  sort  of  breach  in 
the  wall,  now  heaped  up  with  fallen  stone  so  that  it  was 
impossible  to  advance  more  than  a  few  feet,  but  here  was 
sufficient  to  show  \is  that  we  were  at  the  great  gateway 
described  by  Mr.  Catherwood  as  resembling  the  Golden 
gateway  of  which  I  shall  speak  hereafter,  and  which  is, 
probably,  a  gateway  mentioned  by  J osephus  (Antiquities, 
xv.  xi.  5),  when  he  speaks  of  the  gates  in  the  centre  of 
the  south  front  of  the  temple.  This  passage,  down  which 
we  had  come,  was,  undoubtedly,  one  of  the  ancient  ap¬ 
proaches  to  the  great  court  of  the  temple,  and  the  gate¬ 
way  before  us,  closed  by  the  new  southern  wall  of  the 
inclosure,  was  one  of  the  chief  entrances.  We  paused  a 
long  time  here,  for  the  very  ground  seemed  holy,  and  at 
length  we  retired  slowly  toward  the  place  at  which  we 
had  descended.  It  was  impossible  to  enter  the  vaults 
either  at  the  right  or  the  left  except  from  other  points. 

On  leaving  these  interesting  vaults  we  paused  a  little 
while  on  the  portico  of  the  mosk  to  exchange  notes  on  its 
history. 

In  the  seventh  century,  a.  d.  636,  Omar  having  taken 
Jerusalem,  converted  the  great  church  of  the  Virgin, 
erected  a  hundred  years  before  by  Justinian,  into  a  mosk, 
to  which  other  caliphs  made  additions.  It  continued  to 
be  in  their  possession,  undergoing  some  alterations,  and 
receiving  some  additions  which  made  it  a  palace  as  well 
as  a  temple,  until  the  crusaders  entered  Jerusalem,  in 
1099,  when  Tancred  and  his  knights  and  soldiers  mas¬ 
sacred  thousands  of  the  Infidels  in  the  holy  ground. 
Scarcely  any  picture  so  horrible  is  to  be  found  in  all  the 
wars  of  the  world  as  this  massacre  presented.  They  fell 


KNIGHTS  TEMPLAR. 


191 


by  the  sword,  and  arrow,  and  spear,  and  seeking  refuge 
from  their  fierce  assailants  were  drowned  in  cisterns  till 
they  had  choked  them  up  with  their  bodies.  An  old 
writer  says  that  so  terrible  was  this  slaughter,  that  in  the 
temple  and  porch  of  Solomon  they  rode  in  blood  up  to 
their  horses’  knees.* 

This  temple  or  porch,  “  templum  et  porticus,”  was  the 
present  mosk  El  Aksa.  This  name  was  always  given  to  this 
building.  Twenty  years  later,  a.  d.  1119,  Baldwin  II.  gave 
this  building  to  the  “poor  fellow-soldiers  of  Jesus  Christ.” 

By  this  humble  name  a  number  of  Knights  of  the  Cross, 
who  had  fought  their  way  at  last  to  the  Holy  Sepulchre, 
united  themselves  shortly  after  the  capture  of  Jerusalem. 
They  vowed  to  devote  their  lives  to  the  protection  of  pil¬ 
grims  and  the  cause  of  Christ  against  the  Infidels.  They 
had  no  possessions  but  their  swords,  until  the  20th  year 
of  the  kingdom  of  Jerusalem,  when  this  grant  was  made 
to  them,  for  a  hospital  and  church,  and  they  became  the 
possessors  of  the  temple.  Thenceforth  they  were  known 
as  Templars,  and  from  a  band  of  poor  soldiers  they  be¬ 
came  the  most  powerful  and  wealthy  organization  in 
Europe.  Kings  trembled  before  the  grand  master,  who 
was  priest  and  soldier.  The  pope  issued  bulls  in  their 
favor.  Lands  and  wealth  uncounted  were  from  time  to 
time  bestowed  on  them  and  bequeathed  to  them,  until 
the  order  was  above  sovereigns,  and  to  be  a  Knight  Tem¬ 
plar  was  to  be  more  than  an  emperor.  Their  war-cry 

*  Si  venim  dicimus,  fidem  excedimus.  Sed  tantum  hoc  dixisse  suf- 
ficiat,  quod  in  templo  et  in  porticu  Salomonis,  equitabatur  in  sanguine 
usque  ad  genua  et  usque  ad  frenos  equorum. — Raimondi  de  Agiles,  Hist. 
Hier .,  in  Gesta  Dei,  etc.,  p.  1*79. 

Tantum  ibi  humani  sanguinis  effusum  est,  ut  csesorum  corpora,  unda, 
sanguinis  impellente,  volverenter  per  pavimentum,  et  brachia  sive  trun- 
catae  manus,  super  cruorem  fluitabant,  et  extraneo  corpori  jungebatur, 
ita  ut  nemo  valeret  discernere  cujus  erat  corporis  brachium,  quod  trun- 
cato  corpori  erat  adjunctum. — Roberti  Honachi ,  Hist.  Hier.,  Lib.  ix. 


192 


GROTTO  OF  JESUS. 


rang  on  every  Christian  battle-field  and  their  deeds  were 
subjects  for  minstrel  and  troubadour  in  every  century 
even  to  this. 

An  old  writer  relates  that  under  the  earth  in  front  of 
this  church,  lie  buried  the  four  knights  who,  in  the  year 
1170,  at  the  instance  of  Henry  II.,  assassinated  Thomas  a 
Becket,  in  his  cathedral  of  Canterbury.  Condemned  by 
the  pope  to  exile  in  Jerusalem  and,  possibly,  the  poor 
guests  of  the  Templars,  they  died  here  and  were  buried. 
]STo  other  incident  is  related  of  interest  concerning  this 
venerable  building. 

When  Salah-e’deen  recaptured  the  Holy  City,  it  re¬ 
turned  to  Mohammedan  uses,  and,  with  slight  exceptions, 
has  remained  a  mosk  until  this  time.  But  the  heart  of 
the  visitor  throbs  when  he  remembers  the  deeds  of  valor 
that  have  consecrated  it,  the  mighty  men  who  have  walked 
its  aisles,  the  names  of  renown  that  have  been  heard  within 
its  arches. 

Passing  now  the  south-east  corner  of  the  inclosure, 
pausing  only  to  look  into  more  cisterns  on  the  way,  we  en¬ 
tered  a  small  building  which  there  occupies  the  position  of 
a  corner  tower,  descending  to  it  by  steps  from  the  level  of 
the  great  area  and  descending  again  in  it  to  a  chamber 
known  as  the  “  Grotto  of  Jesus.”  In  it  was  shown  a  white 
marble  basin  of  which  one  side  was  worked  into  a  scallop- 
shell,  amply  large  enough  for  the  immersion  of  an  infant, 
which  has  been  erroneously  called  the  cradle  of  Jesus.  It 
is  said  to  be  the  basin  in  which  he  wTas  washed  when  he 
was  brought  by  his  mother  to  the  temple — a  ceremonial 
washing  according  to  the  Mohammedan  tradition  which 
is  evidently  founded  on  the  presentation  at  the  temple 
described  by  the  evangelist.  From  this  grotto  an  en¬ 
trance,  into  which  I  looked,  leads  to  the  vast  vaults  under 
the  temple  area,  which  have  been  described  by  Mr.  Catlier- 
wood.  Although  I  was  very  desirous  to  make  a  thorough 


GOLDEN  GATE. 


193 


examination  of  this  place  I  could  not  at  this  time,  both  on 
account  of  the  number  of  persons  in  the  party,  which 
hindered  careful  and  slow  examination,  and  also  because  I 
had  already  exhausted  a  large  part  of  the  day  in  the  for¬ 
mer  places,  and  had  still  much  to  see  before  sunset.  I 
made  an  appointment  with  the  sheik  for  a  second  visit, 
which  Whitely  and  myself  repeatedly  endeavored  to  make 
time  for,  but  failed  in  doing.  It  was  this  expectation 
which  prevented  my  making  many  measurements  that  I 
had  designed,  but  the  time  is  rapidly  approaching  when 
all  travelers  will  be  admitted  to  the  holy  spot,  and,  doubt¬ 
less  some*  one  will  have  opportunity  to  make  thorough  ex¬ 
plorations. 

We  now  climbed  the  east  wall  of  the  inclosure,  where 
it  OA^erhangs  the  abyss  of  Jehoshaphat,  and  suav  the 
seat  of  Mohammed,  which  he  will  occupy  at  the  judg¬ 
ment.  It  is  but  a  broken  column,  built  in  the  Avail  at  the 
bottom  of  an  arch,  five  feet  high,  opening  toAvard  the 
valley  of  Jehoshaphat.  The  column  projects  about  five 
feet  over  the  valley.  A  doubtful  seat  eA^en  for  a  prophet, 
and  one  scarcely  less  trying  than  the  bridge  of  a  single 
hair,  or  the  edge  of  a  sword  blade,  over  which  the  dead 
are  to  cross  the  valley,  the  evil  falling  on  the  Avay  into  pits 
far  beloAV,  while  the  righteous  will  find  it  a  broad,  safe 
way. 

A  little  further  along  Avas  the  Golden  gate,  a  building 
on  the  inside  of  the  Avail,  connected  Avith  the  projection 
and  dead  archAvays  on  the  outside,  Avhich  are  supposed  to 
occupy  the  site  of  the  ancient  Beautiful  gate  of  the  tem¬ 
ple.  We  entered  by  a  Ioav  doorway  and  found  ourselves 
in  a  room,  of  which  the  stone  roof  Avas  supported  by  six 
dome-shaped  arches,  the  arches  resting  on  the  Avails  and 
on  tAvo  beautiful  polished  marble  columns  that  supported 
the  middle ;  two  other  half  columns  projected  from  the 
east  and  Avest  sides.  The  whole  chamber  Avas  very  beau- 

9 


194 


SHEIK  MOHAMMED  DUNNUF. 


tiful.  This  is  now  said  to  be  the  tomb  of  Solomon,  but 
this  tradition  I  think  not  very  ancient. 

The  remaining  brief  time  before  sunset  we  devoted  to 
strolling  about  the  inclosure,  the  ground  of  which  was  a 
mass  of  broken-up  ancient  stone.  We  loaded  ourselves 
with  beautiful  specimens  of  porphyry,  verde  antique,  and 
marbles  of  different  colors,  which  we  purposed  having 
cut  and  polished  at  home,  and  at  length,  as  the  darkness 
began  to  gather  around  us,  we  left  the  inclosure  by  the 
gate  at  which  we  had  entered. 

In  the  evening,  as  we  were  seated  around  the  table 
after  dinner,  Sheik  Mohammed  entered  our  dining  room. 
The  old  man  had  somehow  been  taken  with  us,  and  so  far 
from  being  offended  at  our  entering  his  holy  place,  he 
was  apparently  pleased  at  our  expressions  of  satisfaction. 
But  his  delight  over  some  plain  American  sponge-cake, 
which  Hajji  Mohammed  had  the  ability  to  make  perfect, 
knew  no  bounds.  He  had  no  teeth,  and  this  soft  sweet 
went  to  his  heart  by  the  quickest  way,  to  an  Arab’s,  his 
stomach.  Over  this,  while  we  drank  our  Lebanon  wine, 
the  old  man  grew  eloquent,  and  Miriam,  worn  out  with 
her  day’s  adventures,  fell  sound  asleep  on  the  diwan  in 
the  deep  window,  while  we  talked  of  the  Prophet  and  all 
the  rocks  of  Paradise. 


13. 


Jbe  dX) q ij  of  t iff e  dl) iiOelnf e§§- 

We  mounted  at  nine  in  the  morning.  There  had  been 
a  shower  of  rain  until  that  time,  and  we  had  our  water¬ 
proof  coats  on,  but  before  we  reached  the  Jaffa  gate  we 
found  that  they  would  be  useless.  The  servants  were 
despatched  early  in  the  morning  with  the  mules  and  bag¬ 
gage,  and  with  instructions  to  pitch  the  tents  near  the 
Convent  of  Saint  Saba,  in  the  wilderness  of  Engeddi.  It 
was  our  intention  to  visit  Bethlehem  on  the  way,  as  is 
customary  with  all  travelers.  Moreright  volunteered  to 
ride  on  before  we  left  the  hotel,  and  purchase  in  the 
bazaars  some  tin  cases  or  bottles,  such  as  are  made  for 
pilgrims’  use  who  desire  to  bring  back  water  of  the  Jor¬ 
dan.  I  wished  to  bring  specimens  of  various  waters  to 
America  with  me,  and  used  a  number  of  these  cases, 
whose  contents  I  afterward  transferred  to  glass  bottles, 
around  which  I  had  close  tin  cases  soldered,  and  thus 
brought  them  safely  to  America,  unimpaired  by  air  or 
light. 

W  e  made  our  rendezvous  in  the  open  space  in  front  of  the 
Tower  of  Herod,  within  the  Jaffa  gate.  Here  Miriam  and  I 
sat  on  horseback  for  a  half  hour,  surrounded  by  the  usual 
crowd  of  beggar  lepers,  and  at  length  Whitely  came  up  the 
hill,  from  the  bazaars,  at  a  fast  canter,  and  in  a  few  mo¬ 
ments  Moreright  came  down  the  hill  from  the  Armenian 


196 


OURSELVES. 


Convent,  and  then  scattering  the  beggars  right  and  left, 
we  dashed  out  of  the  Jaffa  gate,  just  as  a  stream  of  sun¬ 
shine  came  down  into  the  valley  of  the  Sons  of  Ilinnom. 

As  we  now  appeared  for  the  first  time  together  in  the 
party  that  afterward  remained  in  company  over  many 
mountains  and  seas,  and  was  kept  unimpaired  till  we  left 
Constantinople,  I  pause  here  to  introduce  ourselves  once 
more. 

Moreright  had  not  at  this  time  decided  to  join  us,  wish¬ 
ing  to  remain  in  Jerusalem  a  fortnight  longer.  We  after¬ 
ward  agreed  to  wait  a  week  for  him,  and  he  thus  made  a 
fourth  in  the  party. 

Modestly  speaking,  I  may  say  this  much,  that  I  was  in 
good  condition  for  travel.  Five  feet  nine,  with  reason¬ 
ably  broad  shoulders,  a  beard  not  to  be  laughed  at  (no, 
not  by  the  Prophet’s  own !),  with  a  tarbouche  of  the 
unmistakable  dye  of  the  sultan’s,  and  a  boornoose  that 
Sheik  Houssein  might  have  envied,  a  navy  Colt  in  one 
fold  of  my  shawl,  and  a  volcanic  repeater  in  the  other 
(small,  but  devilish),  not  to  mention  a  bowie-knife,  that  I 
afterward  left  under  the  terebinth  of  Abraham  at  Hebron, 
I  was  not  altogether  the  customer  that  an  Arab  would 
choose  to  deal  with  in  an  exchange  of  Arab  civilities. 

But  I  was  as  nothing  to  Whitely.  He  stood  two 
inches  taller  than  I,  and  had  a  corresponding  breadth  of 
shoulder.  His  beard  was  trimmed  short,  and  gave  a  firm 
and  decided  expression  to  his  fine  countenance.  He  car¬ 
ried  also  a  small  arsenal  of  weapons,  and  was  just  the  sort 
of  man  you  would  expect  to  throw  a  Bedouin  over  his 
head,  and  have  a  shot  at  him  flying  for  the  fun  of  the 
thing. 

Moreright  was  a  man  of  peaceful  employment  and  dis¬ 
position,  that  is  to  say,  he  carried  only  one  revolver  and 
a  knife,  and  I  don’t  think  he  would  have  used  either  ex¬ 
cept  in  case  of  a  fair  shot  and  in  self-defense.  My  im- 


OURSELVES. 


197 


pression  is,  that  he  never  felt  those  temptations  that 
Whitely  and  I  freely  confessed  to  when  we  saw  a  party 
of  those  wild-looking  animals  called  men  by  courtesy,  es¬ 
pecially  the  Anazees.  I  always  felt  as  I  used  to  feel  on 
seeing  a  drove  of  deer  in  summer,  that  it  was  a  capital 
chance  for  a  shot,  but  wrong,  and  I  wouldn’t  do  it  for  the 
world.  But  Moreright  was  to  be  depended  upon.  He 
was  grit  to  the  backbone,  and  a  capital  traveling  compan¬ 
ion  in  those  countries. 

With  Miriam,  the  centre  of  our  party,  the  reader  must 
be  content  to  have  but  a  slight  acquaintance.  Enough  to 
say  that,  having  left  home  an  invalid,  naturally  slight  and 
of  frail  constitution,  she  had  gotten  to  sitting  with  a  firm 
seat  on  her  chestnut  horse  from  early  morning  till  sunset, 
and  rode  up  and  down  mountain  passes  and  rocky  steeps 
that  we  men  were  unwilling  to  trust  our  precious  necks 
over  on  horseback. 

Abd-el-Atti,  my  Egyptian  dragoman,  the  reader  has  be¬ 
come  acquainted  with  if  he  has  read  of  my  travels  there. 
He  was  a  stout-built,  athletic  Egyptian,  with  a  light  copper 
complexion,  a  very  North  American  Indian  countenance, 
and  always  carried  a  pair  of  pistols,  a  bad-looking  knife, 
and  a  double-barreled  fowling-piece  swung  on  his  shoul¬ 
ders.  He  was  a  capital  horseman,  fully  the  equal  of  any 
Bedouin,  and  a  very  sharp,  active,  intelligent  fellow. 

But  JBetuni  was  the  man  of  the  party.  Betuni  was  a 
small,  wizen-faced,  shaven-headed  mukarri — a  name  ap¬ 
plied  to  men  who  supply  horses  and  mules  to  parties  of 
travelers — thoroughly  acquainted  with  all  the  roads,  and 
thoroughly  ignorant  of  every  thing  but  the  road,  surly  as 
a  dog  if  he  was  scolded,  but  always  brightened  up  to  per¬ 
fect  serenity  and  hilarity  by  a  pipe  full  of  tobacco  or  a 
cigar,  an  inveterate  sponge,  and  the  best  possible  butt  for 
fun  of  all  sorts.  Betuni  was  a  treasure,  and  made  the 
tents  uproarious  every  night  with  his  demands  for  gratui- 


198 


BETUNI  AND  THE  SERVANTS. 


ties  which  no  possible  resistance  could  overcome.  He 
was  always  successful  in  extracting  whatever  he  Avanted, 
and  took  it  and  the  accompanying  kick  that  sent  him  out 
of  the  canvas  Avith  equal  good  Avill  and  gratitude. 

He  Avore  a  brown  boornoose  that  he  bought  twenty 
years  before,  and  a  turban  Avhose  folds  he  Avas  constantly 
arranging,  and  he  always  rode  sideways  on  a  minute  don¬ 
key,  Avhich  carried  all  the  feed  for  the  horses  and  Betuni, 
and  Betuni  on  toj3  of  all,  and  yet  beat  us  all  in  speed  and 
endurance,  cutting  into  the  line  ahead  of  his  place  every- 
Avhere,  pattering  along  Avith  his  little  feet  on  a  steady  trot 
all  day  long,  never  tired  and  never  out  of  humor,  in  short, 
the  perfection  of  a  funny  specimen  of  the  donkey.  They 
Avere  Avell  matched,  and  were  a  never-ending  source  of 
amusement  to  us. 

Such  was  our  traveling  party,  Avho  kejDt  ahvays  together. 
The  tents  and  baggage  Avent  by  themselves,  except  in 
dangerous  country  Avhere  Ave  rode  Avith  them ;  but  usu¬ 
ally  Ave  sent  the  train  on  to  the  point  of  evening  halt 
which  Ave  fixed  on  in  the  morning,  and  then  made  detours 
ourselves  to  visit  whatever  Ave  thought  desirable.  With 
the  baggage  train  Ferrajj,  my  stout  Nubian,  and  best  of 
servants,  and  Hajji  Mohammed,  A\rhose  cookery  for  four 
months  on  the  Nile  had  reached  my  heart,  always  rode. 
There  Avere  fourteen  mules  and  horses  in  all,  carrying  the 
baggage  and  tents,  so  that  when  we  Avere  together  Ave 
made  a  party  of  nineteen  horses  and  mules,  not  counting 
tAvo  or  three  donkeys,  and  fifteen  persons. 

Such  was  the  appearance  of  the  party  that  rode  out  of 
the  Jaffa  gate  and  descending  into  the  valley  of  Ben 
Ilinnom,  sloAvly  climbed  the  rocky  road  that  ascends  the 
opposite  slope  by  the  neAv  American  hospital  on  the  way 
to  Bethlehem.  Whitely  led  the  line,  and  I  brought  up 
the  rear,  bothering  Avith  Miriam’s  horse,  who,  being 
broken  Arab  fashion  to  be  guided  by  the  knee  and  Aroice 


CHANGE  OF  ROUTE. 


199 


and  not  by  the  rein,  was  constantly  getting  out  of  line  on 
account  of  the  unusual  pressure  of  a  lady’s  side-saddle. 
The  rein  would  not  control  him  at  all,  and  it  was  more 
than  Miriam  was  willing  to  do  to  strike  him  an  occa¬ 
sional  blow  on  the  side  of  the  head  to  teach  him  his 
place. 

On  the  summit  of  the  hill  I  shouted  for  a  halt,  and  we 
held  a  parley. 

We  were  going  to  the  Dead  Sea,  and  now  why  did  we 
go  by  way  of  Bethlehem  ?  That  was  the  question,  and 
the  reply  was  truly  oriental,  “  because  every  one  did.” 
But  we  were  going  to  Bethlehem  again  next  week,  and 
a  half  dozen  times,  hereafter.  Not  even  Abd-el-Atti  had 
thought  of  a  shorter  route  to  San  Sabas,  but  it  was  quite 
certain  there  was  one.  Did  Betuni  know  the  direct  road  ? 

“  Certainly.” 

Then  we’d  go  direct.  Accordingly  we  turned  back, 
and  descending  into  the  valley  of  Ben  Hinnom  recrossed 
the  dam  of  the  lower  Pool  of  Gihon,  and  followed  the 
valley  down  between  Mount  Zion  and  the  Hill  of  Evil 
Counsel,  passing  under  the  crags  of  Aceldama  on  the 
right,  and  by  Siloam  at  a  little  distance  on  the  left,  until 
we  reached  the  great  valley  of  the  Ivedron,  which  flows 
from  this  spot  downward  with  heavy  plunges,  descending 
three  thousand  nine  hundred  feet  in  the  twenty  miles  be¬ 
tween  the  hills  of  Jerusalem  and  the  Dead  Sea. 

Down  this  valley  our  course  lay.  The  path  was  full  of 
deep  mud-holes  from  the  recent  rain,  and  our  advance 
was  slow,  for  the  clouds  had  cleared  away  and  a  glorious 
sunshine  was  pouring  into  the  valley.  The  wild  flowers 
that  shone  all  over  the  hills  were  opening  their  brilliant 
eyes,  and  we  broke  out  into  cheerful  songs,  or  whiled 
the  time  away  with  pleasant  talk. 

The  scenery  soon  became  very  grand.  High  rocky 
hills  hung  far  above  us,  on  the  sides  of  which  innu- 


200 


BED  OF  THE  KEDRON. 


merable  sheep  and  goats  were  feeding,  while  here  and 
there  a  shepherd  boy  or  girl  would  be  seen  sitting  idly 
in  the  sunshine.  Occasional  overhanging  crags  made 
cavernous  openings,  all  of  which  we  found  had  been  ap¬ 
propriated  by  the  shepherds  to  stable  purposes.  We 
lunched  in  a  beautiful  bend  of  the  valley,  finding  water 
in  the  rocky  bed  of  a  torrent  that  had  been  supplied  by 
the  recent  rain.  Flowers  of  infinite  variety  bloomed  all 
around  us,  and  the  sky  seemed  specially  smiling  and  kind. 
Sheik  Ilalima  rode  up  to  us  as  we  were  eating,  and  after¬ 
ward  remained  with  us.  He  was  the  sheik  of  the  tribe 
possessing  the  country  from  Jerusalem  to  the  Jordan,  to 
whom  we  had  paid  or  agreed  to  pay  the  usual  tribute  of 
one  pound  for  each  person,  in  consideration  of  which  he 
insured  us  safety  from  robbery  while  in  his  dominions.  An 
hour  later  we  came  around  a  point  of  the  rock  and  found 
ourselves  among  the  low  black  tents  of  some  of  his  tribe, 
who  had  pitched  in  the  valley,  while  their  sheep  cropjDed 
a  subsistence  on  the  hills  around. 

Our  road  had  not  followed  the  Kedron  all  the  way, 
but  crossed  the  hills  once  or  twice  to  avoid  its  sinuosities. 
We  were  now  on  it,  however,  and  at  length  crossed  its 
dry  bed  at  a  point  near  where  it  suddenly  enters  a  wild 
gorge  of  magnificent  grandeur.  Along  the  right  bank  of 
this  our  way  now  lay  through  a  road  cut  and  walled  up 
by  the  holy  monks  of  San  Sabas,  to  afford  easy  access  of 
pilgrims  to  that  shrine.  This  gorge  is  celebrated  in  his¬ 
tory  and  romance ;  for  it  was  here  that  Sabas  lived  and 
died,  here  thousands  of  hermits  spent  their  solitary  days 
in  times  of  hermit  life,  and  here  Scott  intended  to  locate 
some  of  the  most  thrilling  scenes  in  the  Talisman. 

The  Kedron  descends  through  it,  the  banks  on  each 
side  being  ragged,  precipitous  rocks,  varying  from  two  to 
five  hundred  feet  in  height  above  the  bed  of  the  stream. 
The  distance  across  is  a  short  rifle-shot  at  the  top  of  the 


SABAS  THE  SAINT. 


201 


gorge,  and  from  its  dark  depths  the  stranger  shrinks  in 
horror,  even  while  he  gazes  in  admiration. 

In  the  sides  of  these  precipices,  at  points  now  wholly 
inaccessible,  by  reason  of  the  scaling  off  of  the  ledges  from 
the  face  of  the  rocks,  which  once  alforded  narrow  and 
dangerous  pathways,  are  many  caverns,  some  formed 
under  the  overhanging  rocks  by  roughly  laid  up  walls, 
and  others  entirely  natural.  They  increase  in  number  as 
you  approach  St.  Sabas,  and  they  are  numerous  on  both 
sides  of  the  ravine.  These  were  the  abodes  of  those  holy 
anchorites  whose  memory  is  fragrant  in  the  churches,  and 
whose  histories  have  lent  a  charm  to  romance  scarcely 
inferior  to  that  of  the  Knights  of  the  Cross.  Men  of  all 
nations,  all  ranks,  found  here  that  peaceful  repose  which 
they  desired  after  sinful  lives  among  their  fellows.  Here 
many  an  aching  heart  was  calmed  and  healed.  Here 
many  a  troubled  conscience  found  peace.  Here  the  mem¬ 
ories  of  fathers  and  mothers  wronged,  beauty  outraged, 
love  betrayed,  heaven  forgotten,  and  God  defied,  found 
oblivion.  The  grave  was  not  more  profound  in  its  seclu¬ 
sion  than  this  valley  to  him  who  fled  from  the  courts  of 
Europe  to  forget  and  be  forgotten. 

Among  all  the  holy  men  who  inhabited  these  cells,  the 
memory  of  Sabas  is  most  to  be  revered,  by  Protestant, 
Catholic,  Greek,  or  Armenian. 

When  the  disputes  in  the  church  at  Jerusalem  ran 
highest,  and  the  head  of  the  Eastern  empire  himself 
favored  the  heterodox  faith,  the  old  hermit  of  En- 
geddi  was  sent  to  Constantinople  to  plead  the  cause  of 
truth  and  orthodoxy.  When  error  was  triumphant  in 
Jerusalem,  Sabas  was  the  only  living  man  who  could 
drive  it  out.  For  a  half  century  he  was  the  hope  and  the 
main  stay  of  the  church  of  the  Christians  in  the  Holy  Land, 
and,  if  there  be  one  man  of  later  than  apostolic  times  who 
should  be  canonized,  he  is  doubtless  the  man, 

9* 


202 


THE  AMERICAN  FLAG. 


He  died,  and  was  buried  in  the  wilderness  where  he 
had  lived ;  and,  around  his  bones  hermits  gathered  and 
recited  to  one  another  the  history  of  his  virtuous  and  holy 
life.  The  caverns  and  cells  that  they  occupied  in  the 
sides  of  the  ravine  were  gradually  connected  by  galleries 
running  along  the  rock ;  and  thus,  this  curious  building, 
or  collection  of  buildings,  had  its  origin. 

Our  cortege  was  now  increased  by  the  addition  of  a 
dozen  Arabs  from  the  encampment  we  had  passed  ;  and, 
at  length,  we  rounded  a  point  of  the  hill,  and  saw  before 
us  two  square  stone  towers,  at  the  left  hand  of  the  road, 
on  the  ravine  side  ;  nor  was  it  till  we  afterward  entered, 
and  saw  the  convent  built  down  the  precipice,  of  which 
these  towers  were  at  the  very  top,  that  we  understood  how 
they  could  be  the  great  convent  of  Saint  Sabas.  We  could 
see  only  these,  and  the  high  wall  between  them,  running 
along  over  the  ridge  of  the  hill,  now  plunging  into  a 
chasm  and  remounting  the  opposite  side,  and  at  length 
disappearing  over  the  precipitous  crags. 

In  the  ravine  made  by  a  small  mountain  torrent,  which 
in  wet  weather  comes  down  here  from  the  southern  hills, 
a  hundred  yards  from  the  wall  of  the  convent,  our  tents 
were  pitched.  The  American  flag  was  fluttering  pleas¬ 
antly  over  them,  to  the  great  surprise  of  the  Bedouins, 
who  could  not  understand  it.  Hajji  Mohammed,  in  loose 
trowsers,  and  full  Nizam  costume,  was  busy  about  the 
dinner;  Ferrajj,  glowing  in  his  long  white  dress,  which 
he  most  affected,  was  everywhere  at  once,  taking  care 
of  his  mistress  and  then  of  his  masters,  disposing  of  arms 
and  cloaks,  and,  as  he  always  was,  showing  how  utterly 
impossible  it  would  have  been  to  get  along  without  him. 
It  seems  nothing  short  of  a  miracle  here  in  America  that 
I  can  live  without  him,  and  I  verily  believe  he  would  be 
worth  his  weight  in  gold  to  me  at  this  present  moment. 

Having  disjiosed  of  our  weapons  of  war,  we  now  pro- 


THE  TRADITIONS. 


203 


ceeded  to  visit  the  men  of  peace  within  the  walls  of  the 
convent,  which  were  made  thick  and  high  enough  to  keep 
all  persons,  not  peacefully  disposed,  on  the  outside. 

A  basket,  lowered  by  a  pulley  from  a  loop-hole  high  up 
in  the  western  part  of  the  wall,  received  a  letter  which 
we  had  brought  from  the  Greek  Bishop  in  Jerusalem.  It 
is  customary  for  travelers  to  accept  the  hospitalities  of  the 
convent,  but  this  was  impossible  when  there  was  a  lady 
in  the  party.  From  the  days  of  Sabas,  no  woman  has 
set  the  sole  of  her  foot  within  the  gate  of  the  convent ; 
and,  tradition  says,  that  when  one  does,  the  walls  will 
crumble  away. 

If  the  tradition  be  true,  it  is  time  for  the  holy  fathers 
to  stand  from  under.  For  when,  after  some  delay,  the 
low  door  at  which  w’e  stood  wTas  opened,  we  found  a  lay 
brother  there  who  was  not  booked  up  in  the  traditions. 
He  politely  invited  us  to  enter.  I  asked  him  if  Miriam 
could  be  admitted ;  and  he  said  there  was  no  objection. 
I  waited  a  moment,  to  send  back  to  the  tents  for  her ; 
and  he,  in  the  mean  time,  stepped  into  the  refectory  to 
consult  an  older  authority.  When  Miriam  arrived,  we 
advanced  as  far  as  the  descent  of  the  first  steps,  into  the 
great  court  by  the  tomb  of  the  saint,  but  there  we  were 
arrested  by  a  cry  that  might  have  roused  his  bones,  if  the 
profane  footsteps  of  a  female  had  not  already  disturbed 
him.  The  father  superior  and  a  dozen  brothers  were 
begging  Miriam  to  go  out ;  and  she  paused  a  moment  to 
enjoy  their  terror,  and  then  retired  to  the  gate,  where  a 
venerable  monk  soon  joined  her ;  and,  making  a  thousand 
apologies,  and  relating  the  traditions  to  her  great  amuse¬ 
ment,  led  her  to  the  east  tower,  where  she  could  look 
down  into  the  convent,  and  where  she  was  supplied  with 
bon-bons,  sweetmeats,  jellies,  (and  arrakee !)  ad  libitum , 
while  we  entered  the  sacred  precincts. 

The  convent  originated  in  a  collection  of  such  caverns 


204 


CONVENT  OF  ST.  SABAS. 


as  I  have  described.  There  are  perhaps  a  dozen  of  these 
within  the  walls.  The  wall  of  the  whole  convent  runs 
along  the  foot  of  the  precipice,  above  the  bed  of  the 
stream,  then  ascends  its  almost  perpendicular  sides  by  a 
zig-zag  course,  and  continuing  along  the  ridge  descends 
again  to  the  bed  of  the  Kedron.  By  this  the  face  of  the 
precipice  is  inclosed,  and  the  cells  which  once  were  mere 
caverns  of  rough  rock  have  now  their  fronts  walled  up 
and  whitewashed,  and  are  connected  with  each  other  by 
galleries,  while  a  broad  ledge  of  the  rock  is  occupied  with 
substantial  buildings  of  stone,  which  are  continued  wher¬ 
ever  the  rock  affords  foundation  for  them  from  the  bed  of 
the  stream  up  to  the  lofty  tower  near  our  tents.  It  is,  there¬ 
fore,  a  village  built  on  an  almost  perpendicular  side-hill. 
The  chief  court  is  on  a  broad  ledge  of  the  precipice,  and 
in  the  centre  of  it  a  small  round  building  marks  the  tomb 
of  St.  Sabas.  It  is  surrounded  in  the  interior  with  poor 
pictures  of  the  miracles  of  the  saint,  in  which  his  head  is 
usually  four  times  as  large  as  his  body,  to  distinguish  him. 
from  others,  which  are  only  twice.  The  church  opens 
from  this  court,  and  is  full  of  pictures  of  a  similar  sort.  I 
heard  of  a  Murillo  here,  but  looked  in  vain  for  it.  There 
is  one  in  possession  of  the  convent. 

The  cell  of  Sabas,  a  cave  which  he  shared  fourteen 
years  with  a  lion  whom  he  cured  of  a  wound,  and  earned 
his  gratitude  therefor ;  his  oratory,  another  cavern, 
where  he  saw  the  pillar  of  fire  that  once  \yas  the  evidence 
of  God’s  glory  present  among  men ;  and  behind  it  cells 
filled  with  grinning  skulls  and  white  arm  and  thigh  bones, 
which  are  the  relics  of  fourteen  thousand  martyr-hermits 
of  Engeddi ;  the  tomb  of  John  of  Damascus,  whose 
name  is  fragrant  in  the  Greek  church ;  and,  finally,  the 
cells  of  the  resident  monks,  we  visited  in  succession,  and 
all  with  curious  interest. 

The  sun  was  setting  when  we  climbed  the  highest  part 


NIGHT  IN  THE  RAVINE. 


205 


of  the  convent,  and  sat  down  on  the  steps  that  led  up  to 
the  great  tower.  Far  down  the  gorge  we  saw  the  sunshine 
on  the  summits  of  the  hills  of  Moab  and  underneath  it  the 
blackness  that  hung  over  the  Sea  of  Death. 

Evening  was  fast  settling  down  among  the  hills  when 
we  left  the  door  of  the  convent  and  walked  to  our  tents. 
The  monks  followed  us  out  with  trays  bearing  coffee,  ar- 
rakee,  sweetmeats,  and  raisins  made  at  Bethlehem,  vdiich 
they  insisted  on  bringing  to  the  tents,  where  Miriam  was 
now  waiting  our  arrival,  and  Hajji  Mohammed  as  impa¬ 
tient  as  a  Christian  cook  could  be  when  his  dinner  wras 
spoiling.  But  we  had  to  drink  coffee,  and  a  tiny  glass  of 
arrakee,  each  of  us,  before  our  monkish  friends  would  be 
appeased ;  and  then  they  distributed  plenty  of  bread 
among  the  servants  and  muleteers,  and  left  us  to  our 
tents  and  the  night,  which  had  now  come  down  dark  and 
heavy  on  the  wilderness  of  Engeddi. 

As  the  day  vanished  the  scene  became  exceedingly  pic¬ 
turesque.  The  camj)  fire,  which  the  men  had  kindled, 
spread  a  glare  on  the  white  tents  contrasting  with  the 
black  and  rugged  rocks  close  to  which  they  were  pitched. 
A  solemn  silence  fell  on  every  thing,  broken  only  by  the 
convent  bell  that  tolled  the  hours  of  Turkish  time,  which 
number  from  the  sunset ;  and  after  our  usual  hour  of  chi¬ 
bouks  and  coffee,  wdiich  followed  dinner,  wre  slept. 

Once  the  loud  bell  for  midnight  mass  echoed  a  hundred 
times  from  the  sides  of  the  gorge,  and,  rolling  strangely 
down  the  narrow  pass,  aroused  me  ;  but  it  was  only  for  a 
moment,  and  I  slept  again,  to  dream  of  those  I  should 
never  see  again  in  my  distant  home. 

Next  morning  we  were  up  early;  and  when  our  break¬ 
fast  table  was  set  in  the  open  front  of  one  of  the  large 
tents,  and  we  were  about  sitting  down,  our  convent  friends 
came  out  and  brought  a  large  bottle  of  Bethlehem  wine, 
which  they  apologised  for  not  before  offering  us.  It 


206 


MORNING  START. 


needed  no  apology,  for  it  was  worse  than  bad  vinegar ; 
but  we  accepted  it  with  good  grace  ;  and  then  one  of 
them  produced  the  arrakee  again,  and  his  tiny  glass, 
which  he  filled  for  each  of  us  in  succession. 

It  is  grand  liquor,  that  convent  arrakee,  all  through  the 
East ;  and  though  it  takes  your  breath  away  at  the  swal¬ 
low,  it  produces  no  ill  effects  afterward. 

Miriam  always  declined  it  after  her  first  taste  in  Egypt, 
and  did  so  now,  whereupon  my  venerable  friend  of  the 
Greek  church  laid  his  hand  on  his  breast  and  bolted  it 
with  an  air  of  resignation  that  was  truly  edifying.  He 
had  declined  breakfasting  with  us  a  moment  before  on 
the  ground  that  it  was  Friday,  and  a  fast-day.  Our  wor¬ 
thy  friend  who  had  so  nearly  produced  the  catastrophe 
to  the  walls  of  the  convent  by  admitting  Miriam  the 
evening  previous,  lingered  around  us  to  the  last.  He 
was  a  queer  fellow,  had  been  a  sort  of  dragoman,  but 
liking  the  looks  of  the  fat  and  quiet  life  of  the  monks  of 
St.  Sabas,  he  offered  himself  as  a  lay  brother,  and  his  skill 
as  a  purveyor  made  him  valuable,  but  I  fancy  he  was  be¬ 
hind  hand  on  the  traditions.  I  gave  him  what  he  was  wait¬ 
ing  for  however,  and  I  don’t  think  it  enured  to  the  treasury 
of  the  convent. 

The  tents  were  struck  and  the  baggage  slung  on  the 
mules,  and  we  still  sat  over  our  coffee,  now  in  the  open 
air.  Hajji  Mohammed  emptied  his  portable  kitchen,  and 
raked  the  coals  into  a  heaj),  in  which  he  inserted  a  tin 
cup  of  coffee  to  keep  hot  for  Ferrajj  and  himself,  by  way 
of  stirrup-cup.  Then  the  last  package  was  made  up  of 
camp-stools  and  table-furniture.  We  sat  on  the  rocks, 
as  the  train  filed  off  up  the  ravine,  and  no  evidence  ex¬ 
isted  but  the  ashes  that  our  camp  had  been  here.  Then 
we  mounted  and  departed.  This  was  the  daily  morning 
process  for  months ;  and  I  never  left  a  camp  ground 
where  we  slept  a  night  on  holy  soil  without  regret. 


VIEW  OF  THE  DEAD  SEA. 


207 


We  bought  handkerchiefs,  printed  in  the  convent,  with 
quaint  pictures  of  the  miracles  of  the  saint,  and  sundry 
Avooden  spoons,  carved  by  the  monks,  which  we  pre¬ 
served  as  mementoes  of  the  curious  spot. 

Starting  at  half-past  eight  in  the  morning,  Ave  retraced 
the  road  of  the  evening  previous  as  far  as  the  commence¬ 
ment  of  the  gorge.  A  hawk,  that  Avas  too  small  for 
poetry  to  make  an  eagle  of,  sailed  in  the  air  far  beloAV  us, 
but  far  aboAre  the  bed  of  the  Kedron,  serving  to  shoAV  us 
hoAV  deep  the  ravine  really  Avas.  We  crossed  the  Kedron 
at  the  head  of  the  gorge,  and  immediately  struck  across 
the  Avild  mountainous  district  Avhicli  lies  on  the  Avest  side 
of  the  Dead  Sea.  No  picture  can  convey  an  idea  of  the 
utter  desolation  of  this  country.  Not  a  tree  is  visible, 
nor  any  vegetation,  except  low  shrubs  of  a  dry,  harsh, 
rush-like  plant,  A\Thich  the  Bedouin  Avomen  Avere  gather¬ 
ing  for  fuel.  A  Avoman  Avould  carry  a  bundle  of  it  as 
large  as  a  small  liay-stack  on  her  head,  and  present  the 
appearance  of  a  tree  Avalking.  The  face  of  the  country 
Avas  as  if  a  thousand  conical  hills  had  been  let  fall  on  it, 
and  avc  Avere  finding  our  Avay  around  and  over  them. 
There  A\ras  no  regularity  about  them. 

Two  hours  from  San  Sabas,  Ave  saw  a  troop  of  mounted 
men,  about  thirty  in  number,  crossing  the  ridge  of  a  dis¬ 
tant  hill.  The  last  one  saAV  us  and  paused,  but  the  rest 
rode  on.  We  at  first  supposed  them  to  be  Bedouins,  but 
afterward  judged  them  to  be  government  soldiers,  and 
Ave  saAV  them  soon  after  halted  on  a  hill,  tAvo  miles  from 
us,  watching  our  movements.  At  the  same  instant,  we 
caught  a  vieAv  of  the  Dead  Sea,  sleeping  calmly  a  thou¬ 
sand  feet  below  us,  and  the  same  illusion  Avas  manifest  of 
which  I  have  spoken  on  the  Mount  of  Olives.  It  seemed 
to  be  not  more  than  an  hour  distant  from  us,  and  that  a 
gallop  doAvn  the  hills  Avould  take  us  there  in  fifteen 
minutes. 


208 


DESOLATE  HILLS. 


It  lay  like  a  silver  lake  among  the  hills,  relieved  by  the 
dark  blue  haze  that  rested  on  the  mountains  of  Moab. 
nor  would  any  one  have  imagined  it  the  mysterious  sea 
whose  profound  waters  have  so  long  swept  over  the 
memory  of  the  Cities  of  the  Plain.  The  scene  was,  in 
fact,  so  very  soft,  rich,  and  beautiful,  that  we  all  agreed 
that  a  painter  who  should  execute  its  facsimile  in  colors 
would  be  ridiculed  as  exaggerating. 

From  this  point  we  saw  the  Wely  of  Neby  Mousa,  the 
reputed  tomb  of  Moses,  located  by  the  Moslems,  with 
their  usual  desire  to  differ  from  Jewish  records,  within, 
instead  of  out  of  the  promised  land.  It  stands  on  a  hill¬ 
top,  about  due  west  of  the  north  point  of  the  Dead  Sea, 
and  distant  perhaps  eight  English  miles  from  the  mouth 
of  the  Jordan.  Every  hill-top  within  sight  of  it  was 
marked  with  small  piles  of  stone,  three,  four,  or  more 
laid  on  each  other,  a  custom  with  Mohammedan  pilgrims 
on  all  points  at  which  the  first  or  the  last  view  of  a  holy 
spot  is  obtained. 

The  most  remarkable  feature  of  these  desolate  hills  on 
which  we  were  now  riding,  was  the  immense  quantity  of 
snails  which  covered  the  ground,  oftentimes  making  acres 
of  it  white.  We  devoted  much  attention  to  them,  Mir¬ 
iam  having  taken  charge  of  the  conch ological  department 
of  our  expedition,  and  we  found  fourteen  or  fifteen  varie¬ 
ties  between  Jerusalem  and  the  shore  of  the  sea.  They 
lay  in  the  same  quantities  down  to  the  very  edge  of  the 
water.  The  rain  storms  wash  thousands  of  them  into  the 
sea,  where  they  die  and  are  thrown  on  the  shores,  or 
found  on  the  bottom.  None  of  them  live  in  the  sea. 

I  can  not  too  much  regret,  that  out  of  several  hundred 
specimens  of  shells  which  we  brought  home  with  us,  we 
miss  these  packages  only,  on  which  I  placed  perhaps  the 
highest  value. 

Three  hours  from  Saint  Sabas  we  came  to  the  top  of  a 


THE  SEA  OF  DEATH. 


209 


deep,  wild  gorge,  down  which  our  path  wound  by  fearful 
precipices.  It  turned  and  twisted  by  rectangular  bends, 
the  path  oftentimes  so  narrow  that  it  appeared  impossible 
to  pass.  Continuing  in  this  for  an  hour  we  reached  the 
opening,  where  it  breaks  out  on  the  western  table  of  the 
Jordan  valley. 

We  now  supposed  ourselves  within  thirty  minutes  of 
the  shore,  and  putting  our  horses  to  their  speed,  we 
started  in  full  race  for  the  sparkling  beach.  Never  was 
illusion  more  complete.  Riding  half  the  time  at  a  rattling 
gallop  we  were,  nevertheless,  an  hour  and  a  quarter  be¬ 
fore  we  dismounted  on  the  water’s  edge. 

Our  course  was  over  the  high  table,  broken  up  into 
hills  which  rise  about  fifty  feet  above  the  sea,  and  which 
occupy  the  western  part  of  the  valley  as  a  step  toward 
the  mountains.  Being  composed  of  a  gravel  and  clay 
mixture,  this  land  is  unfit  for  cultivation. 

We  then  descended  to  the  lower  plain,  and  penetrating 
thickets  of  reeds  and  zukkum,  a  thorny  bush,  among 
which  were  numerous  springs  and  small  rivulets  of  water, 
we  at  last  emerged  among  piles  of  drift-wood  on  the 
northern  beach  of  the  mysterious  Sea  of  Death. 


* 


ci  foe  ;Deq 0  Sep 


a  p  0  i he  *( o I" d p n . 


The  water  was  clear,  bright,  and  transparent  as  glass, 
sparkling  in  the  sunshine,  and  glittering  with  all  the 
beauty  of  a  sea  beach  on  the  Atlantic  coast,  without  the 
mixture  of  sand  to  discolor  it.  The  shore  was  composed 
of  hard  pebbles  of  various  kinds  of  stone. 

Tile  whole  appearance  of  the  beach  was  beautiful  in 
the  extreme.  The  bushes  and  reeds  came  down  to  the 
slope  of  the  beach,  and  all  the  ordinary  flowers  of  the 
country  bloomed  in  profusion  at  the  very  edge  of  the 
water,  much  nearer  than  I  have  ever  seen  vegetation  on 
the  Atlantic  shores.  At  the  very  moment  of  springing 
from  our  horses  we  started  two  rabbits  that  were  among 
the  drift-wood  on  the  shore,  and  we  saw  birds  among  the 
brush,  and  snails  on  the  bank,  so  that  there  was  no  ap¬ 
pearance  of  death  or  of  gloom  in  the  valley. 

The  sea  was  tempting.  I  can  never  resist  the  invita¬ 
tion  of  sparkling  waters,  and  at  sea  have  always  difficulty 
in  restraining  myself  from  plunging  into  the  bright  foam. 
The  day  was  warm,  we  had  ridden  far  and  were  weary 
and  thirsty,  and  the  waves  were  before  us.  While  Abd- 
el-Atti  arranged  our  luncheon,  and  Betuni  took  care  of 
the  horses,  Whitely,  Moreright,  and  I  walked  westward 
along  the  shore  until  we  found  a  good  place,  and  prepared 
for  a  bath. 


A  BATII  IN  T  TI  E  SEA. 


211 

There  was  a  breeze  of  wind  blowing  from  the  south,  and 
the  sea  rippled  up  at  our  feet.  It  made  the  prospect 
pleasanter,  but  we  found  our  error  soon. 

The  water  shoaled  so  gradually  that  it  was  impossible 
to  plunge  from  the  shore,  and  we  walked  off  three  hun¬ 
dred  feet  before  we  found  four  feet  of  water. 

“  Come  on,  Whitely,”  I  shouted,  and  threw  myself 
forward  into  it,  as  I  would  at  home  into  the  arms  of  the 
surf  at  Watch  Hill.  And  then  ! 

If  there  were  words  to  express  an  agony  that  no  one 
has  experienced  I  would  use  them  here.  I  can  not  con¬ 
ceive  worse  torture  than  that  plunge  caused  me. 

Every  inch  of  my  skin  smarted  and  stung  as  if  a 
thousand  nettles  had  been  whipped  over  it.  My  face 
was  as  if  dipped  in  boiling  oil,  the  skin  under  my  hair 
and  beard  was  absolute  tire,  my  eyes  were  balls  of 
anguish,  and  my  nostrils  hot  as  the  nostrils  of  Lucifer. 
I  howled  with  pain,  but  I  suspended  when  I  heard 
Whitely’s  voice.  He  had  swallowed  some  of  the  water, 
and  coughed  it  up  into  his  nose  and  the  tubes  under  his 
eyes.  The  effect  was  to  overcome  all  pain  elsewhere 
while  that  torture  endured.  It  came  near  being  a  serious 
matter  with  him,  and,  as  it  was,  his  voice  suffered  for  a 
week,  his  eyes  and  nose  were  inflamed  as  if  with  a  severe 
cold,  and  the  pain  continued  severe  for  several  days. 
Recovering  our  feet  with  difficulty,  we  stood  pictures  of 
despair,  not  able  to  open  our  eyes,  and  increasing  the 
pain  by  every  attempt  we  made  to  rub  them  with  our 
wet  hands  or  arms.  It  was  some  minutes  before  w7e 
could  regain  our  equanimity  and  open  our  organs  of 
sight,  when  we  saw  Moreright,  who  had  taken  warning 
from  our  example,  laughing  at  us,  while  he  very  coolly 
lay  rolling  about  in  the  sea  with  his  head  high  and  dry 
in  the  air.  As  soon  as  possible  we  made  some  experi¬ 
ments  to  test  the  density  of  the  water,  and,  as  after 


212 


EXPERIMENTS. 


awhile  the  smarting  pain  in  the  skin  diminished,  we 
remained  in  the  sea  nearly  an  hour,  thoroughly  trying  its 
buoyant  powers. 

Walking  off  slowly  from  the  shore,  when  I  reached  a 
depth  where  the  water  was  at  my  arm-pits  my  feet  left 
the  ground  and  turned  up  to  the  surface.  Lying  down 
to  float,  no  part  of  the  body  descended  entirely  below 
the  surface.  If  on  my  back,  my  two  knees,  breast,  and 
face  w~ere  all  out.  I  found  no  difficulty  in  lying  on  one 
side  with  my  hand  under  my  cheek  and  my  elbow  in  the 
water,  as  if  I  were  leaning  on  it.  I  lay  on  my  back  and 
lifted  my  right  foot  into  the  air,  the  lower  part  of  the  leg 
being  parallel  with  the  surface. 

I  found  it  very  difficult  to  swim,  lying  on  my  face, 
from  the  fact  that  my  feet  would  be  thrown  into  the  air 
instead  of  against  the  water.  This  was  a  matter  of  prac» 
tice  however,  and  in  a  short  time  I  found  no  difficulty  in 
making  rapid  progress,  quite  as  rapid  as  in  ordinary  salt 
water,  and  much  more  so  than  in  fresh  water.  The  bot¬ 
tom  was  visible  at  a  great  distance  from  the  shore  ;  once 
I  attempted  swimming  below  the  surface  with  my  eyes 
open,  a  practice  not  difficult  in  the  Atlantic,  but  I  paid 
dearly  for  this  second  attempt.  The  agony  in  my  eyes 
was  intolerable,  and  when  I  attempted  to  regain  my  feet 
I  found  I  was  in  such  deep  water  that  I  could  but  touch 
my  toes  to  the  ground,  and  up  they  would  go  to  the 
surface,  while  I  floundered  about  like  a  fish  on  land,  and 
my  two  friends  shouted  at  me  in  an  ecstasy  of  fun. 

I  brought  up  from  the  bottom  every  thing  I  could  find 
with  my  toes,  but  I  got  nothing  but  pebbles.  There 
were  no  shells  whatever. 

While  we  were  bathing  Miriam  wras  making  a  thorough 
examination  for  shells,  along  the  beach  to  the  eastward, 
and  we  at  length  rejoined  her  and  continued  the  search. 

I  was  content  with  her  verdict,  knowing  her  skill,  by 


WATER  OF  THE  SEA. 


213 


years  of  practice,  in  detecting  the  minutest  specimens  of 
conchology  which  were  totally  invisible  to  my  eyes. 
She  examined  the  sand  and  clay,  and  made  a  complete 
investigation,  resulting  in  nothing  found.  We  discov¬ 
ered  plenty  of  fresh  water  shells  of  various  kinds,  which 
we  afterward  found  in  quantities  in  the  Jordan,  but  they 
were  all  dead,  and  mostly  worn  on  the  pebbles.  There 
was  no  shell  in  the  Dead  Sea  not  already  well-known  as  a 
fresh  water  inhabitant,  and  therefore  a  stranger  here.  It 
may  be  considered  as  settled,  by  frequent  examination, 
that  there  is  no  life  whatever  within  these  waters. 

A  pint  of  Dead  Sea  water,  which  I  took  in  one  of  the 
tin  cases  before  mentioned,  remained  in  it  till  it  reached 
America,  just  six  months  afterward,  when  it  was  trans¬ 
ferred  to  an  open-mouthed  bottle.  It  was  clear  and 
sparkling  when  opened,  as  it  was  in  the  sea,  but  in  a  few 
days  it  became  yellow,  thick,  and  oily.  In  this  con¬ 
dition  it  remained  until  again  closed  and  corked,  since 
which  time  it  has  become  more  and  more  clear  and 
white,  and  I  am  anticipating  its  perfect  restoration. 

The  water  of  the  _  Dead  Sea  has  been  repeatedly  an¬ 
alyzed,  with  slightly  varying  results.  Dr.  Robinson  gives 
four  of  the  analyses,  of  which  I  here  give  three,  namely 
those  of  Dr.  Marcet,  London,  1807,  Gay  Lussac,  Paris, 
1818,  and  Dr.  Apjohn,  Dublin,  1839. 


Dr.  Marcet. 

Gay  Lussac. 

Dr.  Apjohn 

Specific  Gravity  at  Boiling  Point, 
Distilled  Water  being  1000. 

^  1211. 

1228. 

1153. 

Chloride  of  Calcium . 

. . .  3.920 

3.9S0 

2.438 

Chloride  of  Magnesium . 

.  .  10.246 

15.310 

7.370 

Chloride  of  Sodium . 

...  10.360 

6.950 

7.839 

Chloride  of  Manganese . . 

5 

Chloride  of  Potassium . 

0.852 

Sulphate  of  Zinc . 

.  . .  0.054 

0.075 

Bromide  of  Magnesium . 

0.201 

Water . 

...  75.420 

73.760 

81.220 

100.000 

100.000 

100.000 

214 


WATER  OF  THE  SEA. 


Just  here  I  may  mention  a  circumstance  in  connection 
with  the  water  of  the  river  Jordan.  I  sent  about  a  quart 
of  it  to  America.  When  bottled  in  J erusalem  it  was  of 
the  clayey,  milky  color  of  the  river.  When  opened  in 
America  it  was  clear  and  perfectly  transparent,  while  it 
had  a  strong  sulphurous  smell  that  was  fully  equal  to  the 
strongest  sulphur-spring  I  have  ever  seen.  I  have  been 
unable  to  find  any  analysis  of  the  Jordan  water,  and  I 
mention  this  fact  to  call  the  attention  of  those  interested 
to  this  evidence  of  a  contribution  to  the  Dead  Sea,  which 
I  have  never  before  seen  mentioned.  The  effect  being 
the  same  in  two  bottles,  one  of  which  I  shipped  from 
Smyrna  and  the  other  from  Leghorn,  I  have  no  idea  that 
it  was  produced  by  extraneous  causes. 

We  lunched  on  the  shore  of  the  sea.  Abd-el-Atti  had 
kindled  a  fire  among  the  drift-wood  which  lay  piled  up  on 
the  beach.  This  drift-wood  was  much  of  it  large  timber 
from  the  hill-sides  of  Moab,  and  lay  in  quantities  sufficient 
to  supply  Jerusalem  with  fuel  for  months  if  there  were 
any  way  of  conveying  it  thither.  But  here  it  lies  and 
rots,  since  a  camel  would  take  two  days  to  carry  a  small 
quantity  to  the  Holy  City  and  the  worth  of  his  load  would 
not  repay  the  time  and  labor.  The  fire  spread  rapidly 
and  blazed  fiercely  among  the  dry  trunks  and  branches  of 
trees.  Leaving  it  to  complete  its  work  of  demolition  on 
these  memorials  of  the  desolateness  of  the  spot,  we  mount¬ 
ed  our  horses  at  three  in  the  afternoon  to  proceed  to  the 
Jordan. 

I  rode  the  bay,  Mohammed,  down  to  the  edge  of  the 
sea,  but  he  paused,  snuffed  the  salt  air  with  his  nostrils 
and  refused  to  wet  his  dainty  fetlocks  in  it.  He  knew  it 
well,  and  after  a  pleasant  discussion  with  him,  in  which 
he  very  gently  but  decidedly  begged  off,  I  turned  him  to 
the  path  by  which  the  others  were  gone,  and  he  took  the 
road  at  a  flying  run  that  soon  brought  us  up  with  them. 


THE  JORDAN. 


215 


We  had  now  to  cross  the  plain  which  lies  west  of  the 
Jordan  and  north  of  the  Dead  Sea.  It  was  very  evident 
from  its  surface  that  it  had  been  overflowed  in  rainy 
weather,  and  the  deposit  of  clay  on  the  surface  forbade 
vegetation.  It  was  a  dead  level  of  barren  soil.  Not 
even  a  blade  of  grass  grew  on  it.  On  the  ground  lay 
quantities  of  small  shells  of  a  peculiar  sort  found  in  the 
Jordan,  which  had  spread  over  the  ground  during  the 
overflow,  and  now  lay  dead  and  white  on  the  surface  of 
the  soil.  A  thin  dry  crust  had  formed  in  the  sunshine  as 
is  usual  over  mud,  but  I  could  detect  nothing  in  its  appear¬ 
ance  nitrous  or  in  any  respect  unusual.  We  were  three 
fourths  of  an  hour  from  the  sea  to  the  ford  of  the  Jordan, 
crossing  the  angle  made  by  the  latter  with  the  north  shore 
of  the  former. 

The  Jordan  was  flowing  strong  and  fierce  between  its 
high  banks,  swollen  by  the  rains  and  the  melting  of  the 
snows  of  Hermon.  At  this  point,  and,  indeed,  on  most 
of  its  course,  the  Jordan  has  two  banks,  one  of  which  it 
overflows  in  very  high  water,  while  the  other  is  far  above 
that.  On  the  intermediate  terrace  grows  a  dense  thicket 
of  trees,  willows,  zukkum,  and  other  brush. 

The  pain  of  our  bath  in  the  Dead  Sea  was  not  over.  * 
My  face,  especially  my  chin  under  my  beard,  was  burn¬ 
ing.  The  beard  itself  was  crusted  with  salt  and  all  my 
skin,  from  head  to  foot,  was  covered  with  an  oily  sub¬ 
stance  that  the  reader  can  obtain  some  idea  of  by  dissolv¬ 
ing  salt,  soda,  and  lime  in  hot  lamp-oil  and  brushing 
himself  over  with  the  mixture. 

We  were  in  haste,  therefore,  to  see  the  Jordan,  and  the 
instant  we  reached  its  banks  we  plunged  into  its  cool 
flood. 

The  snows  of  Lebanon  had  reduced  it  almost  to  freez¬ 
ing  point,  but  the  relief  from  the  Dead  Sea  water  was 
delicious.  We  remained  in  it  but  for  a  few  minutes  how- 


216 


THE  JORDAN. 


ever,  and  then  sat  down  on  the  hank  to  feast  our  eyes  on 
this  the  great  end  of  Christian  pilgrimage. 

The  flow  was  swift  and  strong,  like  the  flow  of  a  river 
that  knew  its  own  might  and  majesty.  The  color  of  the 
water  disappointed  me.  It  held  in  solution  a  light  clay 
that  gave  it  a  milky  or  even  muddy  appearance,  and 
made  it  the  very  contrast  of  the  light  clear  water  of  the 
Dead  Sea.  The  stones  under  the  water  and  the  edges 
of  the  bank  were  encrusted  with  the  shells  I  have 
mentioned.  We  collected  a  few  of  these  and  cut  a 
half  dozen  canes  from  the  various  trees  that  grew  on 
its  banks. 

We  had  not  brought  our  shrouds  with  us,  as  the 
eastern  pilgrims  are  accustomed,  to  dip  in  the  sacred 
stream,  and  then  preserve  for  the  time  of  burial,  but  we 
took  away  with  our  eyes  the  impress  of  the  scene  to  re¬ 
main  on  brain  and  heart  forever. 

Beyond  the  stream  the  mountains  stood  cold  and  calm 
as  when  Moses  from  their  summits  viewed  the  Land  of 
Promise.  We  endeavored  to  locate  Pisgah,  and  in  this 
succeeded  to  our  satisfaction.  I  know  of  no  line  of 
mountains  whose  summit  is  such  an  exact  level  as  is 
the  summit  of  those  hills  of  Moab.  The  line  on  the  sky 
was  almost  without  a  curve,  but  one  point  “  over  against 
Jericho”  was  higher  than  the  others,  and  this  sufficed  us. 
Hereafter,  in  speaking  of  Mount  Gerizim  and  Mount  Ebal 
at  Nablous,  I  shall  again  mention  this  peak  in  a  connec¬ 
tion  that  gives  it  an  interest  hitherto  unknown. 

An  old  Arab  and  his  son  came  down  to  the  ford  as 
evening  settled  on  us,  and  crossed  the  dangerous  stream, 
while  we  sat  and  watched  them.  Twice  I  thought  the 
old  man  gone,  but  his  strong  son  held  him  up  and  helped 
him  over,  and  then  we  turned  away. 

Sheik  Halima  had  been  urgent  for  our  departure  for  an 
hour.  He  feared  the  Bedouins  on  the  east  of  the  Jordan, 


BLOOD  REVENGE,. 


21V 


of  whom  we  had  seen  several  parties  moving  on  the  op¬ 
posite  heights.  But  we  laughed  at  his  fears,  and  told  him 
that  three  Americans  were  equal  to  three  regiments  of 
Arabs.  He  half  believed  it,  for  he  was  in  a  constant  holy 
horror  of  my  revolver,  which  he  had  once  seen  exhausted 
in  shots  into  a  flight  of  vultures.  As  one  and  another  of 
the  huge  birds  fell,  the  sheik  opened  his  eyes  and  looked, 
and  with  the  sixth  ball  he  uttered  a  solemn  44  Bismillah,” 
and  dismounted  to  inspect  the  slain.  After  that  he  be¬ 
lieved  in  Americans. 

But  the  darkness  was  impending,  and  we  reluctantly 
turned  our  horses’  heads  from  the  pool ;  once  before  we 
departed,  I  spoke  to  my  bay  horse  Mohammed,  and  shook 
his  jingling  rein.  He  went  into  the  stream  like  a  rock 
from  a  hill-side,  with  a  fierce,  grand  plunge,  and  shook 
his  fine  head  and  flowing  mane,  as  he  breasted  the  swift 
waters,  and  then  we  came  out  again,  and  with  a  wild 
halloo,  went  up  the  bank  at  a  bound,  and  then  all  together 
were  off  over  the  plain  for  Jericho. 

The  pace,  which  was  fast  at  first,  gradually  slackened, 
and  Sheik  Halima  rode  up,  as  we  came  to  a  singular  pile 
of  three  stones  on  each  other,  in  the  middle  of  the  path. 

A  low  muttering  of  the  sheik  attracted  Whitely’s  at¬ 
tention  as  we  passed  the  stones. 

44  What  are  they  ?”  Ho  answer. 

44  Sheik  Halima,  what  is  that  ?” 

44  The  revenge.” 

44  What  ?” 

44  They  killed  Rakhin  there.  The  stones  will  stay  there 
till  one  of  them  is  killed  just  there.” 

44  Who  killed  him  ?” 

44  They — over  there,”  jxfinting  across  the  Jordan. 

44  When  was  it  ?” 

44  In  the  time  of  the  grapes  last  year.”  And  the  sheik 
growled  a  little  to  himself,  and  rode  on. 

10 


218 


JERICHO. 


Ten  minutes  later,  we  met  six  wild-looking  Bedouins, 
going  toward  the  Jordan.  They  stopped  and  exchanged 
the  salutation  of  peace  with  us,  which  proved  their  good 
intent,  so  far  as  we  were  concerned,  conversed  a  few  mo¬ 
ments,  and  rode  on.  Under  the  pledge  of  secrecy,  they 
communicated  the  fact  that  they  belonged  to  a  tribe  near 
Hebron,  from  whom  the  common  enemy  east  of  the  Jor¬ 
dan  had  stolen  two  camels  three  years  ago.  They  were 
now  on  an  expedition  of  reprisal.  If  the  reader  feels  any 
interest  in  the  result  of  their  expedition,  I  may  add  (in 
confidence  still)  that  I  met  one  of  them  in  Jerusalem  a 
week  afterward,  and  he  told  me  that  they  found  four 
camels  in  a  convenient  place,  and  appropriated  them,  ask¬ 
ing  no  questions. 

It  was  now  quite  dark,  and  in  a  few  minutes  we  had 
completely  lost  our  way.  The  tents  had  been  sent  to  the 
village  El  Riha  (in  which  name  the  reader  will  catch  the 
resemblance  to  Jericho),  and  according  to  our  calcula¬ 
tions  we  ought  to  be  within  a  half  mile  of  it.  But  we 
were  in  a  sort  of  cul  de  sac  among  some  fences  of  dry 
thorn  bush.  Here  we  stopped  short  to  hold  a  council. 

In  the  midst  of  our  deliberation,  Whitely  fired  a  pistol, 
and  the  next  moment  we  heard  the  response  of  Hajji  Mo¬ 
hammed’s  heavy  fowling-piece.  This  gave  us  our  direc¬ 
tion,  and  he  continued  to  fire  occasionally  until  we  reached 
the  tents. 

A  large  camp-fire  was  kindled  near  them,  and  twenty 
Bedouins  were  seated  around  it,  feasting  on  our  provis¬ 
ions,  while  a  crowd  of  not  less  than  fifty  women  of  Jeri¬ 
cho  (whose  reputation  by  the  way  is  exceedingly  dubious), 
singing  loud,  shrill  songs,  interrupted  with  wild  ullulas  of 
joy,  were  waiting  to  welcome  Miriam,  whom  the  flag  on 
our  tent  had  taught  them  to  suppose  a  sultana  whose 
bucksheesh  would  equal  their  welcome. 

But  dinner  was  the  sole  attraction  for  us,  and  this  being 


FOUNTAIN  OF  ELISHA. 


219 


served  and  eaten,  we  slept  gloriously  on  the  plain  of 
J  ericho. 

Next  morning  we  found  our  position.  It  was  near  an 
ancient  tower,  which  alone  remains  of  the  Jericho  of  the 
time  of  the  crusades,  and  near  a  low,  miserable  mud  vil¬ 
lage,  which  was  surounded  by  an  impenetrable  thicket  of 
dead  thorn-bushes.  A  cistern  close  by  our  tents,  sur¬ 
rounded  by  a  mosaic  pavement,  was  perhaps  the  remains 
of  some  ancient  palace-garden,  and  similar  spots  in  the 
neighborhood  indicated  the  antiquity  of  the  site.  The 
tower  is  not  older  than  the  middle  ages. 

Twenty  Bedouins,  of  the  Ghor  of  the  Jordan,  were 
around  the  fire  in  the  morning,  and  rose  as  we  came  out, 
to  give  us  a  morning  salutation.  There  was  nothing  of 
interest  in  the  miserable  village  El  Riha,  and  we  hastened 
away. 

Riding  a  half  hour  over  a  luxuriant  plain,  watered  by  a 
clear,  sparkling  stream,  and  covered  with  the  nebbek  or 
lote  tree,  and  the  zukkum,  here  quite  large,  but  nowhere 
cultivated  with  any  care,  we  reached  the  fountain  of 
Elisha,  now  called  Ain  es  Sultan.  And  a  sultan’s  fountain 
it  verily  is,  gushing  up  gloriously  and  running  out  in  a 
small  stream,  heavy  enough  to  work  a  large  cotton-mill. 
It  was  as  large  and  copious  as  any  six  fountains  I  had 
seen  in  America,  and  worthy  the  miracle  of  Elisha  which 
was  here  performed.  This  spot,  in  all  respects,  answers 
the  description  of  the  fountain  of  Jericho,  and  as  there  is 
no  other  in  this  part  of  the  valley,  it  is  manifest  that  this 
must  be  the  one,  which  at  the  request  of  the  people,  Elisha 
changed  from  bitter  to  sweet,  as  described  in  2  Kings,  ii. 

Here  we  were  much  nearer  the  site  of  the  ancient  city 
than  the  spot  where  we  had  passed  the  night,  and  near 
the  fountain,  on  the  plain,  in  all  directions,  but  especially 
to  the  south  and  south-west,  are  remains  of  the  ancient 
city  of  Herod. 


220 


ANCIENT  JERICHO. 


Jericho  possesses  an  interest  to  the  Christian  traveler 
which  dates  from  the  entry  of  the  children  of  Israel  into 
the  Land  of  Promise.  Repeatedly  mentioned  in  the  Old 
Testament,  it  has  its  chief  and  holiest  interest  in  connec¬ 
tion  with  the  Saviour’s  life.  It  was  here  that  Zaccheus 
saw  him,  and  here  that  he  healed  blind  Bartimeus.  It 
was  here  that  he  received  the  news  of  the  death  of  Laza¬ 
rus,  and  hence,  followed  by  his  sad  disciples,  he  went  up 
the  road  we  were  now  about  to  travel,  to  Bethany,  to 
call  him  back  from  the  land  of  silence. 

Tradition  endeavors  to  increase  the  interest  that  thus 
invests  the  spot,  by  making  the  high  mountain,  whose 
perpendicular  walls  of  rock  overhang  the  plain  behind  the 
fountain,  the  mountain  Quarantana,  of  the  forty  days’ 
temptation,  but  of  that  we  will  say  nothing,  since  no  one 
can  affirm  any  thing  of  it. 

The  fountain  is  broad  and  shallow,  measuring  nowhere 
more  than  eighteen  inches  in  depth,  bubbling  up  in  all 
parts  of  its  basin,  with  quantities  of  air  or  gas.  It  is  sur¬ 
rounded  by  the  ruins  of  a  building  which  has  formerly 
covered  it.  I  found  it  filled  with  fish,  many  of  them 
measuring  six  inches  in  length. 

We  rode  southward  under  the  foot  of  Quarantana, 
whose  rugged  face  is  full  of  caves  inhabited  by  fellaheen, 
whom  Ibrahim  Pasha  expelled  from  their  villages  which 
he  burned,  and  at  length  crossing  the  Wady  Kelt  which 
comes  down  through  a  deep  gorge  of  the  hills  from  the 
west,  in  the  bottom  of  which  flows  the  brook  Cherith,  we 
turned  up  on  the  south  bank  of  that  brook,  and  ascended 
the  steep  hill-side  by  an  ancient  road,  at  the  side  of 
which  ran  once  an  aqueduct  now  in  ruins.  The  ascent 
was  rapid  and  difficult.  Abd-el-Atti  had  left  us  at  the 
fountain  and  ridden  on.  He  was  quite  ill  with  a  cold  and 
inflammation  on  his  lungs.  I  found  him  near  the  top  of 
the  hill,  lying  on  the  ground  under  the  side  of  a  large 


A  RUINED  MONASTERY. 


221 


rock,  in  great  pain,  and  having  no  other  remedy  at  hand, 
I  dismounted,  and  getting  a  bottle  of  brandy  from  the 
luncheon  bag,  poured  it  in  quantities  on  his  breast  and 
rubbed  it  in  with  a  flannel  cloth.  Miriam,  coming  up  at 
the  moment  I  was  pouring  it  out,  shouted  out  her  recollec¬ 
tion  of  an  old  Bible  picture  of  the  good  Samaritan  pouring 
oil  and  wine  into  the  wounds  of  the  man  who  had  fallen 
among  thieves,  and  wre  were  thereby  reminded  that  this 
wTas  the  road  on  which  the  scene  of  that  parable  was 
laid. 

The  gorge  of  the  brook  Cherith  wras  very  magnificent. 
I  have  seen  none  in  Alpine  scenery  to  equal  it  for  wild 
and  desolate  beauty.  For  an  hour  we  continued  to  pass 
remains  of  the  aqueduct,  and  at  about  one  o’clock  arrived 
at  an  extensive  ruined  khan,  where  was  a  cistern  of  water 
surrounded  by  Arab  women,  who  were  drawing  water 
and  carrying  it  in  skins  to  tents  among  the  mountains.  A 
fortress  on  a  high  hill  over  this  was  alike  in  ruins,  and  sug¬ 
gested  memories  of  brave  old  days  now  forgotten.  No 
tradition  or  history  attaches  to  these  spots  so  far  as  I 
could  learn.  I  find  in  the  pilgrimage  of  the  English  saint, 
Wilibald,  mention  made  by  that  worthy  that,  on  his  way 
from  Jericho  up  to  Jerusalem,  he  came  upon  the  convent 
or  monastery,  “  Sancti  Eustochii “  Illud  autern  stat  in 
medio  campo  inter  Hiericho  et  Hierusalem,”  adds  the 
venerable  chronicler,  and  thereby  “I  conclude  that  the 
ruin  which  I  now  saw  may  have  been  this  monastery, 
and  the  wTell  at  which  I  paused,  may  have  been  that  at 
which  he  drank,  in  the  year  of  grace  seven  hundred  and 
sixty-five.  Other  record  I  know7  not  of.  Old  ruins  like  this 
possess  to  me  a  great  interest,  in  that  they  rouse  imagin¬ 
ation,  which  peoples  their  halls  with  princes  and  priests, 
monks  or  ladies  of  the  long-gone  years.  But  whether 
this  were  monastery  of  saint,  or  castle  of  knight,  it  and 
its  former  habitants  are  dust  now — holy  dust  of  Holy 


222 


BEDOUINS. 


Land,  and  the  tents  of  the  wandering  tribes  are  the  only 
habitations  of  man  in  their  once  luxuriant  valleys. 

We  rode  on  over  hills  and  through  valleys  until,  five 
hours  and  a  half  from  Jericho,  we  entered  the  village 
of  Bethany,  and  riding  by  the  tomb  of  Lazarus,  paused 
a  moment  to  look  in  it,  then  went  on  over  the  Mount 
of  Olives  by  that  path  so  sanctified  by  the  footsteps  of 
the  Lord,  and  descending  by  the  garden  of  Gethsemane 
we  crossed  the  Kedron  and  rode  into  the  gate  of  St. 
Stephen. 

Our  party  had  been  increased  by  the  addition  of  a 
dozen  Bedouins,  one  only  of  whom  wished  to  enter  the 
city.  The  law  forbidding  him  to  carry  weapons,  he  begged 
me  as  we  were  descending  the  Mount  of  Olives  to  take 
his  gun  from  him,  and  I  rode  into  the  city  with  the 
queerest-looking  matchlock  across  my  saddle  that  any 
Christian  man  ever  carried  into  Jerusalem. 


✓ 


15. 

Jl]e  SiHfy-piqce  of  the  dJUoHd. 


“Now,  Miriam,  now  for  Bethlehem!  Give  the  chest¬ 
nut  the  rein,  and  shake  off  the  dust  of  Jerusalem  from 
your  feet  and  garments.  Hey,  Whitely,  touch  up  the 
brown  horse !”  And  we  went  like  the  wind  out  of  the 
Jaffa  gate,  right  under  the  tower  of  David,  and  so  down 
into  the  valley  of  the  Sons  of  Hinnom. 

It  was  a  tremendous  pace  for  that  steep  descent ;  but 
we  had  learned  lessons  in  horsemanship  in  Syria,  and  my 
broad-breasted  Mohammed  went  down  the  descent  with 
long  plunges,  and,  as  he  crossed  the  dry  bed  of  the 
stream,  lifted  his  head  into  the  air  and  shook  his  flowing 
mane,  as  if  he  were  intoxicated  with  that  glorious  north¬ 
west  wind  that  came  down  from  the  hills  of  Ephraim. 

On  the  table-land  beyond  the  Hill  of  Evil  Counsel  we 
found  it  blowing  great  guns.  My  boornoose  streamed 
off  on  the  wind,  and  Miriam’s  riding-dress  was  a  flag  to 
leeward.  They  kept  up  the  pace — now  the  chestnut  lead¬ 
ing  with  his  mistress,  now  Whitely  ahead,  and  now  More- 
right  wraving  his  hand  in  the  air  as  if  he  carried  a  Bedouin 
spear,  his  favorite  style  of  fast  riding,  and  one  which  his 
horse  was,  of  course,  familiar  with. 

I  fell  behind  at  the  first,  for  I  had  paused  a  moment  in 
the  valley  to  speak  to  my  old  friend  Isaac  Bosenstein,  who 
is  superintending  the  erection  of  the  Jewish  hospital  on 


224 


Y  7  ALLAH. 


the  hill-side,  which  is  founded  on  the  bequests  of  the  late 
Judah  Touro,  and  the  gifts  of  American  Israelites.  The 
charities  of  the  American  Jews  are  noble.  Their  hospital 
will  surpass  every  thing  of  the  kind  in  Holy  Land ;  and 
many  a  worn  old  son  of  Jacob,  seeking  the  city^f  David 
to  die,  and  the  valley  of  Jehoshaphat  to  be  buried  in, 
will  bless  them  with  expiring  breath  for  this  great  work 
which  they  are  doing  so  silently. 

When  I  reached  the  hill-top  I  saw  the  party  a  mile 
ahead  of  me,  and  I  spoke  to  Mohammed. 

Some  day,  my  friend,  you  may  mount  one  of  those 
half-breed  Arabian  horses,  and  know  what  that  means.  It 
is  not  safe  for  a  stranger  to  speak  to  one  of  them.  His 
first  motion  is  a  long  leap,  and  at  the  third  jump  he  is  at 
full  speed. 

“  Y’ Allah !” 

It  is  a  profane  expression ;  no  doubt  of  it.  But  what 
is  a  man  to  do  ?  The  Arabs  have  a  way  of  being  pro¬ 
fane,  and  the  name  of  God  is  the  most  common  word  in 
their  language.  When  men  say  the  Turks  are  very  rev¬ 
erent,  and  are  always  saying,  “  Please  God,”  “  If  God 
will,”  “  In  the  name  of  God,”  “  Bismillah,”  “  Mashallah,” 
and  similar  expressions,  it  means  nothing  more  nor  less 
than  we  mean  when  we  say  of  a  man  that  he  swears  like 
a  trooper.  The  word  which  answers  to  the  English  “  Go 
ahead!”  the  French  “Allez!”  the  Italian  “Avanti!”  in 
all  oriental  countries  is  “  O  God  !”  or  “  Y’ Allah  !”  -Still, 
as  I  said,  it  has  passed  into  common  use  precisely  as 
Adieu  with  us,  and  one  must  use  it. 

By  the  time  I  had  thought  of  half  this  that  I  have 
written  about  the  word,  the  bay  horse  was  going  over 
the  plain  like  the  gale  that  followed  him,  and  I  thundered 
up  alongside  of  Miriam  as  we  came  to  the  slight  ascent 
that  approaches  the  convent  of  Mar  Elias.  Passing  this, 
in  a  few  moments  we  were  approaching  a  small  dome,  on 


RACHEL’S  GRAVE. 


225 


four-square  white  walls,  that  marks  a  spot  of  deep  in¬ 
terest,  being  the  tomb  of  Rachel,  the  wife  of  Jacob. 

No  spot  of  ancient  interest  is  better  located  than  this. 
There  has  been  no  period  of  history  at  which  tradition 
has  not  fixed  upon  this  identical  place,  and  indeed  the 
description  of  the  death  and  burial  of  the  mother  of 
Joseph  and  Benjamin  leave  no  room  for  doubt  as  to  the 
spot  in  which  she  was  buried.  “And  they  journeyed 
from  Bethel,  and  there  was  but  a  little  way  to  come  to 
Ephrath.  *  *  *  And  Rachel  died  and  was  buried  in 

the  way  to  Ephrath,  which  is  Bethlehem,  and  Jacob  set 
a  pillar  upon  her  grave ;  that  is  the  pillar  of  Rachel’s 
grave  unto  this  day.”  (Genesis  xxxv.  16-20.)  And 
again  :  “  Rachel  died  by  me  in  the  land  of  Canaan,  in  the 
way,  when  yet  there  was  but  a  little  way  to  come  unto 
Ephrath,  and  I  buried  her  there,  in  the  way  of  Ephrath ; 
the  same  is  Bethlehem.”  (Genesis  xlviii.  7.) 

The  present  building  is  a  Moslem  kubbet  or  wely,  a 
small  square  building  supporting  a  dome.  In  the  centre 
of  this  is  a  pile  of  masonry  covered  with  plaster.  On  the 
east  side  of  it  is  another  building  adjoining  it,  with  open 
arches,  in  which  we  were  glad  to  find  shelter  from  the 
piercing  wind.  Moslem  tombs  are  around  it.  One  large 
open  vault,  in  the  rear  of  it,  was  full  of  skeletons  whose 
origin  I  could  not  ascertain. 

Here  the  tents  of  Israel  were  pitched  in  the  centuries 
long  gone,  and  here  the  dying  Rachel  gave  birth  to  the 
beloved  Benjamin.  Close  by  her  couch,  on  the  one  side, 
was  the  hill  on  which  her  children  would  build  the  great 
city,  the  prototype  of  the  everlasting  city  of  their  God. 
Close  by  her,  on  the  other  side,  was  the  hill  on  which  the 
village  would  be  built,  from  which  would  come  the 
Saviour  of  Israel,  the  Lion  of  the  tribe  of  Judah,  the 
Shfioh  of  Joseph,  the  Hope  of  Benjamin,  It  was  indeed 
holy  ground  on  which  she  lay.  The  mother  of  a  mighty 


226 


BETHLEHEM. 


race  lay  down  in  that  ground  and  slept  peacefully, 
serenely,  century  after  century,  nor  have  men  ever  dis¬ 
turbed  her  repose.  We  gathered  flowers  close  by  the 
tomb.  The  delicate  anemone,  and  starry  flowers  that 
might  have  sprung  from  the  blue  eyes  of  the  beloved  of 
the  old  man,  Jacob. 

The  horses  became  impatient,  and  Mohammed,  who  had 
followed  me  around  among  the  graves  like  a  dog,  lifted 
up  his  head  as  a  sudden  gust  of  wind  dashed  in  his  face, 
and  started  off*  at  a  furious  rate  to  make  the  circuit  of 
the  kubbet,  thereby  conveying  a  hint  that  it  was  cold, 
and  one  must  keep  moving  to  keep  warm.  So  we 
mounted,  and  ten  minutes  more  brought  us  to  the  en¬ 
trance  of  Bethlehem. 

My  friend  Pierotti,  architect  of  the  Terra  Santa,  to 
whom  I  had  been  indebted  for  so  many  favors  in  the 
Holy  City,  had  given  us  a  very  kind  letter  to  the  su¬ 
perior  of  the  Latin  Convent  of  the  Nativity  at  Bethle¬ 
hem.  But  I  am  convinced  it  was  not  necessary  to  insure 
us  a  warm  and  hospitable  reception  within  the  walls  of 
that  old  building. 

They  were  walls.  It  was  something  to  have  such  piles 
of  stones  between  one  and  the  outer  world.  The  win¬ 
dow-seats,  or  niches,  were  ten  feet  deep  through  the 
massive  piles,  but  the  sunshine  stole  pleasantly  in  at 
them,  and  lit  the  room,  into  which  we  were  shown,  with 
a  soft  red  flush  that  made  it  pleasant  and  homelike. 

It  was  a  long  and  lofty  chamber,  from  which  opened 
little  cells,  four  feet  by  seven,  with  curtains  for  doors. 
Each  cell  had  a  delicious  bed,  with  white  linen,  for  a 
sleeping-place.  Over  the  end  of  the  room  was  a  large 
painting,  representing  a  king  and  a  queen  who  had  made 
royal  gifts  toward  the  rebuilding  of  the  convent,  and 
who  looked  down  on  us  in  strange  old  style,  as  if  they 


grotto  of  Christ’s  birth.  227 

wondered  what  barbarian  land  we  came  from  as  pilgrims 
to  the  birth-place. 

Before  the  sun  set  we  visited  the  Church  and  the 
Grotto  of  the  Nativity. 

The  church  is  one  of  the  oldest  structures  in  Palestine, 
being  that  erected  by  Helena,  in  the  fourth  century,  over 
the  supposed  spot  of  the  nativity  of  our  Lord.  The 
building  is  cruciform,  consisting  of  a  nave  and  two 
aisles  on  each  side  of  it,  the  aisles  supported  by  forty 
ancient  Moorish  pillars,  with  Corinthian  capitals,  all  of 
which  are  grotesquely  painted  and  ornamented  in  a  style 
that  is  at  once  unseemly  and  puzzling.  Four  more  pil¬ 
lars  are  now  concealed  in  a  wall  which  crosses  the  lower 
side  of  the  transept,  and  completely  separates  the  great 
nave  from  the  upper  part  of  the  church.  Under  the 
high  altar  is  the  Grotto  of  the  Nativity,  into  which  two 
stairways  descend,  one  on  each  side  of  the  high  altar. 

This  grotto,  on  which  much  wealth  has  been  lavished 
by  the  three  churches  who  have  joint  possession  of  it,  the 
Greeks,  Latins,  and  Armenians,  contains  two  spots  of 
special  interest,  one,  marked  with  a  silver  plate  that 
states  in  good  Latin,  “Here  was  born  of  a  virgin,  Jesus 
Christ  our  Lord,”  and  another  that  is  cased  in  marble, 
and  called  the  manger  in  which  he  was  laid. 

Beside  these,  the  spot  where  the  Magi  knelt  is  pointed 
out,  and  marked  by  an  altar. 

The  grotto,  for  it  is  a  cavern  in  the  rock,  is  gorgeously 
ornamented,  and  hung  around  with  paintings,  and  gold 
and  silver  ornaments.  There  was  one  little  picture,  a 
Carlo  Dolci,  that  I  tried  hard  to  buy,  and  I  came  near 
succeeding. 

In  discussing  the  question  of  the  authenticity  of  this 
spot,  I  refer  the  reader  to  what  I  shall  hereafter  remark, 
in  speaking  of  Jerusalem,  on  the  subject  of  tradition  and 
its  value.  And  I  confess,  that  at  this  point  I  see  no  pos- 


228 


DR.  ROBINSON’S  ARGUMENT. 


sible  room  for  doubt  that  the  Lord  was  born  within  this 
same  cave  now  consecrated  to  his  worship. 

That  I  may  not  be  accused  of  misstating  the  arguments 
against  this  view,  I  will  quote  here  Dr.  Robinson’s  entire 
argument  on  this  subject.  He  introduces  it  in  connection 
with  his  argument  concerning  the  Holy  Sepulchre  and  the 
place  of  Resurrection.  (Biblical  Researches,  vol.  ii.,  pages 
78,  79.) 

“  The  cave  of  the  Nativity,  so-called,  at  Bethlehem,  has 
been  pointed  out  as  the  place  where  Jesus  was  born,  by 
a  tradition  which  reaches  back  at  least  to  the  middle  of 
the  second  century.  At  that  time  Justin  Martyr  speaks 
distinctly  of  the  Saviour’s  birth,  as  having  occurred  in  a 
grotto  near  Bethlehem.  In  the  third  century,  Origen 
adduces  it  as  a  matter  of  public  notoriety,  so  that  even 
the  heathen  regarded  it  as  the  birth-place  of  him  whom 
the  Christians  adored.  Eusebius  also  mentions  it  several 
years  before  the  journey  of  Helena,  and  the  latter  conse¬ 
crated  the  spot  by  erecting  over  it  a  church.  In  this  in¬ 
stance,  indeed,  the  language  of  Scripture  is  less  decisive 
than  in  respect  to  the  place  of  the  Ascension,  and  the 
evangelist  simply  relates  that  the  virgin  brought  forth  her 
son  and  laid  him  in  a  manger, 4  because  there  was  no  room 
for  them  in  the  inn.’  But  the  circumstance  of  the  Sav¬ 
iour’s  having  been  born  in  a  cave,  would  certainly  have 
not  been  less  remarkable  than  his  having  been  laid  in  a 
manger,  and  it  is  natural  to  suppose  that  the  sacred  writer 
would  not  have  passed  it  over  in  silence.  The  grotto, 
moreover,  was,  and  is,  at  some  distance  from  the  town, 
and  although  there  may  be  still  occasional  instances  in 
Judea  where  a  cavern  is  occupied  as  a  stable,  yet  this  is 
not  now,  and  never  was,  the  usual  practice,  especially  in 
towns  and  their  environs.  Taking  into  account  all  these 
circumstances,  and  also  the  early  and  general  tendency  to 
invent  and  propagate  legends  of  a  similar  character,  and 


THE  ARGUMENT. 


229 


the  prevailing  custom  of  representing  the  events  of  the 
gospel-history  as  having  taken  place  in  grottos,  it  would 
hardly  seem  consistent  with  a  love  of  simple  historic  truth 
to  attach  to  this  tradition  any  much  higher  degree  of 
credit  than  we  have  shown  to  belong  to  the  parallel  tra¬ 
dition  respecting  the  place  of  our  Lord’s  ascension.” 

It  will  be  observed  that  it  is  here  admitted,  that  the 
tradition  relating  to  this  grotto  is  unbroken  since  tliQ 
middle  of  the  second  century,  at  which  time  Justin  Mar- 
tyn  speaks  of  it. 

Justin  was  converted  from  Platonism  to  Christianitv 

«/ 

a.d.  132.  Of  his  age,  we  know  nothing,  but  it  is  not  m 
the  least  impossible  that  he  had  seen  a  hundred  men  who 
remembered  the  days  of  Christ  on  earth.  It  is  incredible 
that  at  that  period  of  time  any  error  could  be  made  in 
pointing  out  the  birth-place  of  the  Son  of  God,  whose 
presence  on  earth  was  an  event  of  more  astounding  im¬ 
portance  in  the  eyes  of  hundreds  of  thousands  of  the  in¬ 
habitants  of  the  country  than  would  have  been  the  advent 
of  Antoninus,  the  reigning  emperor,  or  the  fall  of  Rome 
itself.  If  a  philosopher  or  an  earthly  king  had  been  born 
in  a  stable,  there  would  not  be  the  least  doubt  of  the 
preservation  of  the  place  for  twice  or  ten  times  that 
length  of  time.  Why,  then,  imagine  that  the  birth-place 
of  the  King  of  kings  could  be  mistaken  ? 

Simply  for  these  alleged  reasons  : 

1.  The  only  evangelist  out  of  the  four  (Luke)  who 
deems  it  important  to  mention  that  the  babe  was  laid  “  in 
a  manger,”  does  not  mention  that  the  manger  was  in  a 
cave. 

2.  This  cave  was,  and  is,  at  some  distance  from  the  town. 

3.  It  is  not  now,  and  never  was,  the  usual  practice,  es¬ 
pecially  in  towns  and  their  environs,  to  occupy  caverns 
as  stables. 

As  to  the  first  point,  it  is  true  that  Luke  does  not  men- 


230 


CAVES  USED  AS  STABLES. 


tion  the  cave,  nor  does  he  mention  that  it  was  in  a  stable, 
nor  that  it  was  not  in  one  or  the  other.  I  confess  my  in¬ 
ability  to  perceive  the  force  of  the  argument,  or  any  rea¬ 
son  why  the  silence  of  Luke  on  this  subject  should  operate 
to  prove  the  cave  a  fiction,  any  more  than  why  the  entire 
silence  of  the  other  three  evangelists  should  operate  to 
prove  Luke’s  statement  all  a  fiction.  The  argument  has 
equal  force,  that  it  is  natural  to  suppose  that  if  true,  the 
sacred  writers  would  not  have  passed  over  in  silence  such 
remarkable  circumstances. 

As  to  the  second  point,  the  distance  from  the  present 
town  maybe  three  or  four  hundred  yards.  It  is  not  at  all 
improbable  that  the  ancient  town  inclosed  this  site  and 
swept  quite  around  the  hill. 

But  the  third  point  is  the  most  remarkable  statement, 
and  here  I  am  compelled  to  find  fault  with  Dr.  Robinson’s 
accuracy  of  observation,  which  is  the  more  surprising 
here  as  contrasted  with  his  usual  careful  and  reliable 
statements. 

I  have  no  hesitation  in  saying  that  I  never  saw  a  cavern 
in  Syria,  near  Jerusalem,  or  any  large  town,  which  was 
accessible  to  cattle,  horses,  donkeys,  or  sheep,  that  was 
not  used  as  a  stable.  Perhaps  he  did  not  enter  these  as 
frequently  as  I  did,  for  a  sort  of  mania  after  caves  and 
tombs  led  me  into  every  hole  that  would  admit  my  body. 
In  the  valley  of  Jehoshaphat,  all  the  open  caverns  were 
stables.  On  the  side  of  Aceldama,  difficult  of  access  as  it 
was,  horses  and  donkeys  were  nightly  stabled  in  the 
tombs.  In  Jerusalem,  on  the  north  side  of  the  Yia  Dolo¬ 
rosa,  where  for  centuries  there  have  been  ruins  of  some 
ancient  buildings,  leaving  a  row  of  ten  Gothic-pointed 
arches  above  the  ground,  supporting  the  vast  heaj)s  of 
earth  known  as  the  site  of  Herod’s  Palace,  which  arches 
admitted  one  to  dark,  subterranean  caves  in  the  earth, 
every  night  of  my  stay  in  Jerusalem,  the  camels  of  wan- 


ANCIENT  CUSTOM. 


231 


clering  Arabs  were  housed  for  the  night,  among  donkeys 
and  horses  of  the  resident  inhabitants.  The  same  was 
true  of  all  parts  of  Syria,  on  the  road  to  Hebron,  to  Saint 
Sabas,  to  Jericho,  and  to  Galilee. 

That  my  own  testimony  on  this  subject  may  not  go  un¬ 
supported,  I  may  refer  to  Lieutenant  Lynch,  who  states  his 
“  own  observation  of  the  frequent  and  almost  universal 
appropriation,  where  practicable,  of  caverns  and  recesses 
in  the  rock,  for  sheltering  man  and  beast  from  the  inclem¬ 
ency  of  the  weather.”  (Lynch’s  Dead  Sea  Explorations, 
page  424.)  Mr.  Stephens’s  remarks  are  too  well  known  to 
need  quotation  here. 

Thus  much  in  regard  to  present  customs. 

Probably  the  assertion  that  such  never  was  the  custom 
would  be  fully  answered  by  an  equally  decided  assertion, 
that  such  always  was  the  custom,  and  one  assertion  might 
have  equal  weight  with  the  other,  since  there  is  no  au¬ 
thority  on  the  subject.  But  reasoning  from  the  general 
similarity  of  modern  and  ancient  customs  in  eastern  lands, 
especially  in  Syria,  it  is  perfectly  safe  to  believe  that  such 
was  the  custom,  and  I  have  no  doubt,  therefore,  that  the 
converse  of  this  third  proposition  is  strictly  true,  and  that 
the  use  of  caverns  for  stables  is,  and  always  was,  the  usual 
practice  in  Syria,  especially  in  towns  and  their  environs. 

Much  more  likely  would  this  be  true  in  a  crowded  time 
when  Bethlehem  was  overflowing  with  guests,  and  when 
every  traveler  sought  what  shelter  for  himself  and  his 
beast  the  surrounding  country  could  afford. 

But  “  the  prevailing  custom  of  representing  the  events 
of  the  gospel  history  as  having  taken  place  in  grottoes”  so 
far  from  operating  as  an  argument  against  the  authen¬ 
ticity  of  this  faith  appears  to  me  a  strong  indication  in  its 
favor.  That  custom  must  have  had  an  origin.  What 
was  that  origin  ?  Most  probably  in  the  fact  that  some  of 
the  events  of  the  holy  history  did  take  place  in  grottoes. 


2  32 


OTHER  GROTTOES. 


This  tradition  is  the  earliest  that  we  have  distinct  knowl¬ 
edge  of,  and  the  fact  that  the  Lord  was  born  in  a  cave 
and  buried  in  a  cave  may  well  have  given  cause  to  the 
custom  of  representing  other  events  of  his  life  as  having 
occurred  in  a  similar  place. 

Finding  this  place  marked  out  in  the  middle  of  the 
second  century  as  the  birth-place  of  the  Lord,  and  noth¬ 
ing  to  forbid  its  truth,  but,  on  the  contrary,  every  thing 
to  favor  it,  I  believed  sincerely  that  I  was  on  the  ground 
hallowed  by  that  event. 

Various  grottoes  are  connected  with  that  of  the  Nativity 
by  passages  under  the  church.  We  visited  the  altar  and 
tomb  of  Eusebius  and  that  of  J erome,  in  succession,  as  well 
as  that  of  Eustachia,  and  of  Paula,  a  Roman  lady,  a  friend 
of  Jerome,  who  founded  a  number  of  convents  in  Holy 
Land,  in  the  fourth  century,  and  died  at  Bethlehem.  Two 
paintings  over  her  tomb  are  exceedingly  beautiful. 

Thence  we  went  to  the  altar  and  tomb  of  the  Innocents 
slain  by  Herod,  which  I  think  must  be  the  tomb  and 
shrine  which  Dr.  Olin  took  for  that  of  persons  martyred 
by  the  Mohammedans,  as  I  could  find  none  such ;  and 
finally  we  visited  the  cell  of  Jerome  in  which  he  translated 
the  Bible,  and  which  there  is  no  reason  to  doubt  is  the 
chamber  of  that  father. 

It  was  curious  to  be  waited  on  that  night  by  long- 
robed  Franciscans ;  to  have  your  toast  handed  you  by  a 
cowled  brother,  and  your  wTine  poured  out  by  a  vener¬ 
able-looking  priest,  and  your  candles  lit  by  a  reverend 
father. 

Let  me  tell  you  there  might  be  colder  and  less  cozy 
places  than  that  same  guest-chamber  in  the  old  Convent 
of  the  Nativity,  after  the  dinner  was  cleared  away. 

There  was  little  Miriam  in  a  corner  of  the  diwan,  with 
a  pile  of  cushions  around  her,  resting  most  pleasantly. 
There  was  Whitely  making  magnificent  strides  up  and 


CHRISTMAS  MEMORIES. 


233 


down  the  room,  and  expressing  his  constant  wonderment 
at  the  thickness  of  the  walls.  There  was  Moreright  roll¬ 
ing  a  cigarette  of  his  favorite  Stamboul  tobacco,  of  which 
he  smoked  regularly  one  after  dinner,  and  no  more ;  and 
there  was  your  black-bearded  friend  with  his  chibouk, 
filling  the  air  with  fragrant  Latakea,  while,  through  the 
clouds  that  surrounded  him,  he  discoursed  somewhat  on  " 
this  wise : 

“  Ah  !  Miriam,  if  I  had  lived  in  Bethlehem  it  should  be 
a  Christmas-day  the  whole  year  round,  and  life  one  long 
Christmas  carol.  I  would  have  feasts  in  the  day  and 
songs  in  the  night,  and  I  would  keep  the  birth-night  three 
hundred  times  a  year.  Somehow,  here  in  Bethlehem,  I 
seem  to  remember  only  Christmas  memories,  as  if  on 
Christmas  days  in  other  years  I  had  been  nearer  here. 
Do  you  remember  only  the  few  short  years  ago  when  our 
blithe  Jessie  sang  the  carols  with  us?  and  now — there 
are  voices  among  the  seraphim  not  more  musical  than 
her  voice  was  then ;  and  what  must  it  be  now  that  she  is 
there  ?  There  !  Where  ?  Close  above  us.  If  there  be 
a  place  where  the  heavens  are  nearer  earth  than  else¬ 
where,  it  is  here,  above  the  Birth-place  and  the  Sepulchre. 
And — hush  a  moment,  Whitely ;  for  heaven’s  sake  stop 
that  heavy  tread  one  instant !  I  heard  a  voice  outside  the 
convent  walls.” 

“You  did,  did  you?  Why,  Braheem  Effendi,  those 
walls  are  twelve  feet  thick.” 

“  Pshaw,  man !  the  voice  I  heard  sounds  through  six 
feet  of  earth  and  violets,  and  it  is  no  louder  than  the 
rustle  of  the  grass  on  her  grave,  and  yet  I  tell  you  I  heard 
it  from  the  land  of  sunset — our  land,  my  friend — our  own 
old  home.” 

“  The  Effendi  is  a  little  crazy  to-night,”  said  Whitely, 
turning  to  Moreright,  and  pausing  in  his  walk. 

“  She  lived  to  see  just  fourteen  summers,  and,  and  then 


234 


ONE  BELOVED. 


— what  then?  Why,  then  she  came  to  Bethlehem — 
don’t  interrupt  me,  Miriam !  She  died  on  a  Christmas- 
night.  I  remember  it  as  if  it  were  last  night.  The  moon 
on  the  snow,  the  snow  on  the  hills,  and  the  blue  sky  over 
them  all.  And  she  lay  in  her  little  bed,  and  her  long 
yellow  hair — golden  as  the  golden  sands  of  Sahara — 
streamed  down  the  white  pillow,  and  her  bright  blue  eyes 
were  closed,  and  her  thin  white  hands  were  clasped  to¬ 
gether  on  her  breast ;  her  gentle  breast,  that  never 
heaved  a  sigh,  now  breathing  gently,  and  as  peacefully  as 
if  already  she  were  in  the  atmosphere  of  heaven.  Once, 
when  the  curls  of  gold  trembled  on  the  pillow,  I  believed 
for  the  instant  that  the  winds  that  blow  over  those  hills 
of  God  were  among  the  tresses,  and  fanning  her  forehead. 
Once,  as  I  pressed  my  forehead  to  the  cold  window-pane, 
and  looked  out  on  the  night  and  stars,  I  believed  that  I 
saw  the  white-robed  host  approaching ;  and  once  when 
Philip — who  had  loved  her  as  his  own  child — stooped 
over  her,  and  she  opened  her  blue  eyes  and  smiled, 
then  I  believed — nay,  I  knew,  and  it  was  so — that  she 
saw  nothing  on  earth — nothing  but  the  ineffable  counte¬ 
nance  of  the  Saviour.  Yes,  she  was  gone  !  and  where, 
where  would  the  free  soul  of  the  beloved  child,  who  all 
her  life  had  so  loved  the  story  of  Bethlehem,  go  first  from 
his  presence  but  to  the  cradle  and  the  cross  ?” 

“  Is  it  all  true,  Miriam,  that  he  is  talking  about  ?” 

“  I  believe  it  is ;  and  do  you  remember  who,  at  this 
time  two  years  ago,  was  lying  even  so,  and — what  day 
did  she  die  ?” 

“  March  5,  1854  ;  and  this  is  March  7,  1856.  Ah,  how 
pleasant,  after  all,  is  the  memory  of  that  beloved  child ! 
And  though  her  voice  is  not  to  be  heard  any  more  here 
— though  her  fair  brow  is  not  again  to  be  uncovered  on 
earth — I  can  weep  now  as  I  say  it — yet,  O  friends  of  mine! 
this  same  city  of  Bethlehem  is  the  place  to  remember 


STARLIGHT  ON  BETHLEHEM. 


235 


that  he  who  was  a  little  child  bade  children  come  to  him, 
and  that  the  jewels  of  his  crown  will  be  their  radiant 
souls.  Yea,  I  thank  God — though  it  be  in  tears  and 
pains — I  thank  God  that  he  gave  her  to  us,  and  that  she 
died.  Died !  Can  I  say  that  here  ?  Why,  Bethlehem 
is  the  birth-place  of  the  race  of  man.  Here  he  who  dies 
in  India  or  America  is  born  to  immortality.  The  child 
that  we  thought  dead  in  the  valley  of  the  Susquehanna 
was  born  that  night  in  Bethlehem  of  Judea — born  in 
the  kingdom  of  the  mighty  Son  of  David.  Whitely, 
light  that  candle,  will  you?  I’ve  an  idea  that  all  the 
holy  fathers  are  as  sound  asleep  in  the  convent  by  this 
time  as  J erome  himself,  and  I  propose  finding  my  way  to 
the  roof  of  the  convent.  I  marked  the  passages  before 
dark,  and  I  wish  to  see  the  starlight  on  Bethlehem.  Will 
you  go  with  me  ?” 

“  Certainly  we  will.” 

I  can  not  attempt  to  describe  the  labyrinthine  passages 
of  the  old  building.  It  was  a  walk  of  an  eighth  or  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  to  reach  the  terraced  roof,  and  on  the 
way  we  woke  the  light  slumbers  of  two  of  the  fathers, 
who  put  their  shaven  heads  out  of  the  doors  of  their  cells, 
and  muttered  what  we  took  for  blessings,  whether  they 
were  so  intended  or  not. 

That  hour  was  a  life-time.  Go  out  in  the  starlight  of 
a  Christmas-night  at  home,  my  friend,  and  look  up  at  the 
stars,  and  try  to  realize  some  of  my  feelings  in  the  star¬ 
light  of  Bethlehem.  I  lay  down  on  the  roof  and  gathered 
my  boornoose  about  me,  for  the  wind  was  not  yet  gone 
down,  and  I  hid  my  face  from  my  companions  while  I 
looked  up. 

And  then,  then — deride  if  you  will,  O  friend  of  mine  ! 
— laugh  if  you  dare,  O  miserable  unbeliever ! — then,  in 
the  high  arches  of  heaven,  I  heard  the  echo  of  the  morn¬ 
ing  song  sounding  down  the  ages.  And  among  the  voices 


236 


THE  STAR  OF  BETHLEHEM. 


of  the  sons  of  God  I  caught  that  distant  wail  that  alone 
interrupted  the  universal  joy,  mourning  that  the  Son  of 
God  must  die  for  that  creation.  And  next,  as  I  lay  and 
listened,  I  heard  the  unspeakable  melody  of  the  angels 
that  woke  the  shepherds  over  on  yonder  hill ;  and  as  I 
lay  there,  that  sound — a  sound  as  of  the  hosts  that  are 
around  the  white  throne — went  up  into  the  sky,  and  died 
away  among  the  stars.  It  died  away,  but  still  I  heard 
another  sound — a  faint,  far  sound — that  thrilled  through 
my  heart  and  my  brain  as  did  not  the  songs  of  the  new 
creation,  nor  even  the  angels’  voices. 

When  I  was  a  boy — I,  whose  far- wandering  feet  had 
pressed  the  holy  soil  of  Canaan,  and  had  brought  me  to 
the  plains  of  Bethlehem  Ephratah — in  my  old  home, 
thousands  of  miles  away,  where  the  forests  waved  in  the 
autumn  winds,  and  streams  dashed  with  much  music  of 
water  down  old  rocks,  and  the  oak-tree  over  the  house 
moaned,  and  the  wind  soughed  through  the  dark  pines — 
when  I  was  a  boy,  unsullied  as  yet  in  heart  by  worldly 
contacts,  uncursed  as  yet  by  willing  sin,  I  was  wont  to 
lie  down  at  evening,  wearied  with  the  long  day’s  play, 
and  fall  asleep,  lulled  by  my  mother’s  voice  in  one  un¬ 
changing  song.  For  years  I  fell  asleep  to  that  music,  and 
the  last  sound  that  hallowed  my  undisturbed  slumber, 
was  that  sweet  voice  singing  to  “  Bonnie  Doun,”  the  Star 
of  Bethlehem. 

Will  you — dare  you  laugh  at  me,  when  I  tell  you  that 
I  heard  that  voice — that  song — that  holy  sound,  away 
yonder  at  Bethlehem,  above  me  among  the  stars?  That 
I  shut  back  the  memories  that  crowded  to  heart  and  lip, 
crushed  down  the  longing  I  can  not  tell  of,  for  the  clasp 
of  those  so  beloved  arms,  and  that  at  length  I  sobbed 
aloud,  and,  hiding  my  face  in  my  boornoose,  I  wept  as  I 
lay  there  in  the  starlight  on  the  convent  roof. 

Laugh  if  you  will ;  but  know  of  a  surety  that  if  I  pre- 


THE  STAR  OF  BETHLEHEM. 


237 


vail  to  reach  the  heaven  of  our  longing  hopes,  among  the 
tempestuous  songs  of  joy  that  roll  down  the  banks  of  the 
river  of  life,  I  shall  not  find  perfect  melody  till  I  hear  that 
voice  and  song. 


4Ui)el,e  f l) e  £9  ft)  el*  §  qH. 

We  prayed  in  the  morning  in  the  Grotto  of  the  Na¬ 
tivity,  finding  in  it  a  crowd  of  young  children  singing  at 
the  early  mass. 

Many  of  the  Bethlehem  artisans  waited  on  us  with  their 
work  to  sell,  and  we  made  some  purchases.  The  chief 
business  of  the  place  is  the  manufacture  of  beads,  rosa¬ 
ries,  and  crosses  from  olive-wood  and  other  substances, 
and  the  carving  of  stone  and  the  mother  of  pearl  oyster- 
shell  of  the  Red  Sea,  in  images  of  holy  men,  women,  and 
places.  Esau,  a  Bethlehemite,  is  the  most  skillful  of  the 
workmen,  as  I  have  elsewhere  remarked,  and  asks  most 
exorbitant  prices. 

The  father-superior  waited  on  us  very  politely  just  be¬ 
fore  we  started,  and  expressed  his  regret  at  the  impossi¬ 
bility  of  selling  me  the  picture  I  had  seen  in  the  Grotto. 
It  was  a  melancholy  fact,  that  the  war  between  the  Greek 
and  Latin  churches  had  its  climax  at  Bethlehem;  and 
although  this  picture  was  the  property  of  the  Latins,  yet 
if  they  removed  it,  it  would  lead  to  a  dispute  on  the  right 
to  fill  the  vacancy;  nor  could  I  effect  the  object  by  in¬ 
stantly  substituting  another,  as  I  desired  to  do  on  my 
return  to  Jerusalem.  The  dispute  would  still  arise,  and 
would  lead  to  a  reference  to  the  authorities  and  endless 
bickerings.  I  was  obliged  to  yield  the  matter,  and,  re- 


POOLS  OF  SOLOMON. 


239 


luctantly  bidding  the  good  monks  farewell,  we  departed 
for  Hebron. 

One  hour  and  a  half  from  Bethlehem,  we  were  at  the 
Pools  of  Solomon.  These  vast  reservoirs  are  three  in 
number,  in  the  slope  of  a  narrow  valley,  where  it  is  prob¬ 
able  that  the  great  king  had  a  country  seat  and  gardens. 
Each  pool  is  lower  than  the  one  next  above  it,  so  that  the 
water  runs  successively  from  one  to  the  other,  and  from 
the  last  by  an  aqueduct  to  Jerusalem. 

The  measurements  of  Cassas,  whose  plans  I  have  before 
me,  give  the  upper  pool,  200  French  feet  by  366  ;  the 
second,  206  by  366  ;  and  the  third,  166  by  480. 

Dr.  Robinson’s  measurements,  which  are  manifestly 
much  more  accurate,  are  as  follows  : 

Upper  Pool . — 380  feet  (English),  by  160  at  the  west 
end  and  250  at  the  east.  Depth  at  east  end,  25  feet. 

Middle  Pool. — 423  feet,  by  160  and  250  feet.  Depth 
at  east  end,  39  feet. 

Lower  Pool. — 582  feet,  by  148  and  207  feet.  Depth 
at  east  end,  50  feet. 

An  old  Saracen  fortified  castle  stands  near  the  upper 
pool,  with  an  ancient  gateway  leading  into  it.  I  rode  in, 
and  found  an  intensely  black  Nubian  in  solitary  posses¬ 
sion,  and  innumerable  earthern  pots,  built  up  in  high 
walls,  by  way  of  hives  for  bees,  of  which  there  were  any 
quantity. 

Not  far  from  the  front  of  this  fortress  is  the  fountain 
from  which  the  pools  are  supplied.  A  stairway  descends 
through  a  mason-work  passage  about  twelve  feet,  into  a 
small  chamber,  in  which  a  basin  collects  the  water  from 
several  springs,  and  discharges  it  toward  the  upper  pool. 
At  the  corner  of  the  upper  pool,  it  is  received  into  a  sort 
of  subterranean  fountain,  which  is  also  reached  by  steps, 
and  thence  distributed  to  the  pool. 

The  original  fountain  is  very  probably  a  work  of  Solo- 


240 


VALLEY  OF  ESHCOL, 


mon’s  day,  and  is  supposed  to  be  the  sealed  fountain  re¬ 
ferred  to  in  the  Canticles,  iv.  12. 

The  road  to  Hebron  from  the  pools  is  over  the  same 
desolate  country  that  I  have  already  described  in  other 
parts  of  Syria.  I  shall  speak  of  it  more  in  detail  in  de¬ 
scribing  our  return  to  Jerusalem. 

It  was  three  in  the  afternoon  when  we  began  to  see 
those  signs  of  cultivation  and  luxuriance  that  indicated 
our  approach  to  the  valley  of  Eshcol.  The  hills  opened  ; 
the  valley  was  fenced  in,  and  vines  covered  the  inclosures. 
A  stone  watch-tower  was  built  up  in  each  vineyard,  where 
the  owners,  who  live  in  the  city,  are  accustomed  to  pass 
the  summer  months.  They  are  not  to  be  called  houses, 
for  they  are  but  square  walls  of  rough  stone,  without 
mortar,  roofed  over  with  brush  or  thatch,  and  without 
windows.  The  inhabitants  of  Syria  need  few  luxuries. 
Beds  are  unknown,  and  a  family  of  moderate  means  can 
be  comfortable  in  such  a  hut,  sleeping  on  straw  or  on  the 
ground. 

The  road  became  now  quite  home-like,  as  it  narrowed 
between  stone  walls,  over  which  the  vines  were  growing. 
But  it  was  not  home-like  underfoot,  where  the  usual  ac¬ 
cumulation  of  rough  stone  made  the  footing  insecure,  and 
from  time  to  time  tried  our  horses’  knees  severely.  But 
at  last  we  found  ourselves  suddenly  among  houses,  and, 
in  a  moment  more,  rode  down  by  the  southern  side  of 
the  upper  city  of  Hebron. 

The  city  is  divided  into  three  parts,  none  of  which  are 
walled.  They  scatter  along  a  valley  between  high  mount¬ 
ains,  an  open  space  separating  each  from  the  other.  The 
lower  city  is  the  largest  and  most  important,  since  in  it  is 
the  great  mosk  that  covers  the  cave  of  Machpelah.  Pass¬ 
ing  the  two  upper  sections  we  reached  the  town ;  and, 
turning  into  it  by  a  pool,  and  entering  by  an  old  archway, 
we  rode  up  a  dark  narrow  street  to  the  Jews’  quarter,  in 


HEBRON. 


241 


which  we  had  been  told  at  J erusalem  that  we  could  obtain 
comfortable  lodgings. 

Let  me  here  warn  the  traveler  who  visits  Hebron,  not 
to  be  deluded  by  such  representations.  We  repented,  in 
agony  of  skin,  all  night  long,  that  we  had  left  our  tents  at 
Jerusalem. 

The  only  house  in  Hebron  into  which  travelers  could 
be  admitted  was  that  of  a  Jew,  whose  hospitality  was 
abundant  in  anticipation  of  full  repayment.  It  was  a 
queer  little  old  house,  dating  somewhere  this  side  of 
Abraham’s  day,  which  we  reached  through  narrow  wind¬ 
ing,  dismal  passages,  out  of  which  opened  many  Jewish 
doors,  in  which  were  many  pretty  Jewish  faces.  One 
room  given  us  was  open  to  the  stars  of  heaven,  being 
only  an  alcove,  from  a  small  open  court.  The  other,  a 
closed  room,  opened  from  it ;  and  on  the  floor  were  spread 
some  coverlids,  by  way  of  bed  and  bedding. 

Leaving  Abd-el-Atti  to  arrange  the  comforts  of  life,  we 
rode  out  to  examine  the  city. 

Hebron  is  known  to  Moslems  only  as  El  Khalil  ( The 
Ft'iend ),  a  name  derived  from  the  common  title  of 
Abraham,  “  the  friend  of  God and  not,  as  has  been 
supposed,  from  El  Khulet  (The  Castle).  They  relate  that, 
in  a  sore  famine,  the  Father  of  the  Faithful  despatched 
his  servants  into  Egypt  to  one  of  his  own  friends  there, 
asking  for  corn.  The  Egyptian  refused  it,  saying,  that  if 
it  were  for  Abraham  and  his  family  he  would  send  it 
instantly,  but  as  he  knew  that  what  he  sent  would  be 
given  away  to  all  the  poor  of  the  land  in  Abraham’s  usual 
manner,  he  would  not  consent  to  send  him  any  to  be  thus 
wasted.  The  servants,  ashamed  to  be  seen  coming  back 
with  empty  bags,  filled  them  with  fine  sand,  which  they 
brought  home,  telling  the  result  of  their  journey  to 
Abraham  alone.  As  he  lay  on  his  couch,  revolving  in  his 
brain  the  means  of  preserving  his  family  and  retainers 

11 


.  242 


/ 

MOSK  OF  MACHPELAH, 

from  impending  starvation,  Sarah  went  to  one  of  the  bags, 
which  had  been  deposited  in  the  tent,  and,  opening  it, 
took  out  meal  and  baked  bread.  Abraham,  smelling  the 
burning  bread,  demanded  where  she  had  obtained  the 
meal,  and  she  replied:  “It  is  what  came  but  just  now 
from  your  friend  in  Egypt.”  “  Say,  rather,”  exclaimed 
the  grateful  patriarch,  “that  it  came  from  my  friend,  God 
Almighty.” 

The  inhabitants  of  the  city  are  friends  to  no  one.  They 
are  the  most  bigoted  Moslems  of  the  East,  and  absolutely 
forbid  the  residence  of  a  Christian  within  their  town. 
They  guard  their  great  mosk  with  the  most  jealous  care, 
considering  it  polluted  by  the  gaze  of  a  Christian  on  its 
outer  walls. 

It  is  an  immense  building  of  handsome  stone,  with  bev¬ 
eled  edges.  No  position  can  be  obtained  near  it  suffi¬ 
ciently  high  to  overlook  its  lofty  walls.  These  are  not 
inclosed  by  a  roof.  They  are  out-walls  of  a  court,  in  one 
end  of  which  stands  a  smaller  building  that  covers  the 
cave  of  Machpelah. 

Benjamin  of  Tudela,  who  visited  Hebron  when  the 
Christians  held  sway  in  the  Holy  Land,  a.d.  1163,  de¬ 
scribed  the  spot  much  as  it  is  now  described.  He  said 
if  a  wealthy  person  offered  a  sufficient  fee  a  door  was 
opened,  “  which  dates  from  the  time  of  our  forefathers, 
who  rest  in  peace ;”  and,  with  a  taper  in  his  hands,  the 
visitor  passed  through  two  empty  caves,  and  reached  a 
third,  wherein  were  six  sepulchres,  those  of  Abraham, 
Isaac,  and  Jacob,  Sarah,  Rebecca,  and  Leah,  opposite  each 
other.  All  bore  inscriptions  like  this :  “  This  is  the  sepul¬ 
chre  of  our  Father  Abraham,  upon  whom  be  peace.”  No 
Christian  is  now  permitted  to  enter  the  inclosure ;  scarcely, 
indeed,  is  one  allowed  to  approach  it. 

As  we  rode  up  toward  it,  the  news  of  our  arrival  spread 
like  wildfire  through  the  town,  and  a  crowd  of  men, 


AN  AMERICAN  LESSON. 


243 


women,  and  children  met  ns  near  the  Haram  with  shouts 
of  defiance  and  derision,  forbidding  us  to  approach.  Dis¬ 
regarding  them,  we  rode  on  to  the  front  of  the  building, 
and  then  around  it,  and  up  the  steep  hill-side  behind  it, 
till  we  were  on  an  eminence  commanding  it.  But  we  could 
see  nothing  more  than  its  vast  walls  of  large  beveled 
stone,  which  seem  to  have  been  standing  since  the  days 
of  Jewish  power.  Our  eyes  could  not  prevail  to  penetrate 
the  rocky  curtain,  and  see  the  opening  of  that  cave  in 
which  the  mighty  and  the  beloved  slumbered. 

No  place  on  earth,  away  from  Jerusalem,  is  of  more 
profound  interest  than  this  ;  and  I  know  of  no  spot  which 
I  more  desired  to  see. 

While  we  paused  on  the  hill,  the  boys  who  had  followed 
us  threw  stones  at  us  from  a  distance,  and  emboldened  by 
our  taking  no  notice  of  them,  at  length  approached  us, 
shouting,  “  Nazara,  kelb,  kafir,”  and  other  words  of  con¬ 
tempt.  Words  did  not  hurt,  but  stones  did;  and  as  one 
struck  the  brown  horse  on  the  side  of  his  head,  Whitely 
lifted  him  in  two  long  bounds  that  brought  him  among 
the  boys  ;  and  seizing  the  largest  of  them,  a  fellow  of  full 
eighteen,  with  his  left  Sand,  he  swung  him  literally  across 
his  horse’s  neck.  The  position  was  not  favorable  to  a 
perfect  covering  of  his  body  by  his  loose  shirt.  On  the 
contrary,  those  parts  which  are  especially  designed  for 
such  purposes  were  exposed  to  the  full  force  of  the  whip, 
which  the  American  pasha  laid  on  with  a  swinging  arm. 
I  will  insure  that  young  hound  against  calling  a  Christian 
a  dog  henceforth.  He  was  a  converted  Moslem  before  my 
friend  threw  him  in  a  heap  into  a  mud-hole ;  and  the 
other  boys  were  aghast  at  this  unheard-of  outrage  on  a 
Moslem  by  a  Christian.  But  they  did  not  disturb  us 
further ;  and  we  rode  down  the  hill  and  visited  one  or 
two  of  the  rude  glass-blowing  establishments,  which  are 
the  chief  business  of  Hebron.  They  manufacture  glass 


244 


JEWISH  HOSPITALITY. 


bracelets  and  anklets  for  the  women  and  children  of  Sy¬ 
ria,  which  they  put  on  when  young,  arucl  retain,  without 
breaking,  until  the  foot  or  hand  grows  too  large  for  them 
to  come  off. 

Returning  to  our  Jewish  quarters,  we  found  Abd-el- 
Atti  in  a  state  of  excitement  hitherto  unparalleled.  It 
appeared  that  we  were  in  the  midst  of  a  Jewish  holy 
week,  when  they  observed  sundry  special  formalities, 
among  which  was  one  which  forbade  them  to  eat  or  drink 
from  any  dish  defiled  by  a  Christian’s  touch.  Hence  we 
could  not  have  either  cooking  utensils  or  table-furniture, 
and  dire  was  the  commotion  consequent  thereon  ;  for  be 
it  known  that  Abd-el-Atti  had  been  entrapped  into  all 
this  by  a  son  of  our  host  in  Jerusalem,  -who  was  author¬ 
ized  to  assure  us  that  his  father  would  be  happy  to  accom¬ 
modate  us  like  lords.  We,  of  course,  forbade  interference 
with  the  religious  feelings  of  the  family;  and  having 
drinking-cups  in  our  pockets,  and  metallic  plates  and 
knives  and  forks  in  our  luncheon-bag,  we  made  a  meal 
from  the  remains  of  our  luncheon,  and  boiled  eggs  which 
we  found  means  to  cook ;  and  then  sat  together  around 
the  miserable  tallow  candle,  that  made  the  darkness  visi¬ 
ble,  while  we  laughed  over  the  appearance  of  our  accom¬ 
modations  in  Hebron. 

It  was  the  first  decided  error  that  Abd-el-Atti  had 
made  in  several  months,  and  in  this  he  was  not  specially 
to  blame. 

The  deep  window-seat  of  the  old  house  opened  by  a 
rude  shutter  on  the  plain  outside  the  city,  for  the  house 
was  on  the  very  edge  of  the  dense  mass  of  buildings,  of 
which  the  outer  circle,  joining  one  to  another,  and  being 
accessible  by  doors  only  from  within,  answered  to  a  certain 
extent  the  purposes  of  walls.  The  windows  were  inno¬ 
cent  of  glass,  and  through  the  loose  shutters  the  cold 
night  wind  found  its  way  in  piercing  blasts.  But  not- 


PLAIN  OF  MAMRE. 


245 


withstanding  the  wind,  before  I  slept  I  threw  open  the 
shutters  and  locked  out  on  the  valley  and  the  hills,  and 
recalled  the  most  interesting  passages  in  the  history  of 
that  ground. 

This  verily  was  the  spot  where  those  events  occurred 
in  centuries  so  long  ago  that  I  can  almost  as  well  realize 
that  I  am  in  another  world,  as  where  the  tent  of  Abraham 
was  pitched,  and  the  angels  visited  him. 

When  men  began  to  build  cities,  in  the  years  immedi¬ 
ately  after  the  deluge,  Hebron  wTas  founded.  In  Num¬ 
bers,  xiii.  22,  we  learn  that  Hebron  was  built  seven  years 
before  Zoan  in  Egypt,  a  fact  which  the  sacred  writer  evi¬ 
dently  mentions  as  showing  its  great  age. 

Its  first  appearance  in  sacred  history  is  when  Abram 
took  up  his  abode  “  on  the  plains  of  Mamre  which  is 
Hebron.”  The  word  here  translated  plains  is  more  prop¬ 
erly  to  be  read  terebinth,  or  oak  grove,  and  hence  arose 
a  tradition,  which  is  found  in  all  the  centuries  since  Bible 
times,  of  a  terebinth  of  Abraham.  The  early  writers  speak 
of  it  as  having  lasted  from  the  time  of  Abraham  to  that 
of  Christ,  when  it  died.  There  is  now  near  Hebron  a 
vast  tree  of  this  description,  which  stands  in  solitary 
grandeur,  bearing  the  tradition  at  present,  but  probably 
not  very  ancient,  though  certainly  the  most  remarkable 
tree  in  Syria. 

But  here  the  history  of  God’s  chosen  people  com¬ 
menced.  Here  Abraham  and  Sarah  lived,  and  here  oc¬ 
curred  that  incident  in  the  family  history  of  the  father 
of  the  faithful  which  so  often  occurs  in  families  at  this 
day,  the  first  death,  that  makes  it  necessary  to  purchase 
a  burial-place  for  our  dead.  Not  a  few  old  men  have 
likened  themselves  to  Abraham  wThen,  with  quivering  lip 
and  bursting  hearts,  they  have  bargained  with  others  for 
deep  places  in  which  to  lay  the  beloved  out  of  sight. 

Abraham  stood  up  from  before  his  dead.  She  lay  there, 


246 


A  BURIAL-PLACE. 


cold  and  calm,  who  had  been  once  the  beloved  of  his 
youth,  the  splendidly  beautiful  Sarah,  to  whom  princes 
and  kings  had  bowed  in  admiring  love,  and  he  had  been 
sitting  in  his  tent  by  her  side,  with  his  head  bowed  down 
over  his  face,  his  memory  sweeping  over  the  century  of 
their  love.  He  stood  up,  and  spoke  to  the  children  of 
Heth,  and  said,  “  I  am  a  stranger  and  sojourner  with  you ; 
give  me  a  possession  of  a  burial-place  with  you,  that  I 
may  bury  my  dead  out  of  my  sight.”  She  at  least  would 
wander  no  more.  She  was  in  the  city  which  had  founda¬ 
tions  whose  builder  and  maker  was  his  friend  and  God. 

And  Ephron  sold  him  the  field  and  cave  of  Machpelah, 
and  “after  this  Abraham  buried  Sarah  his  wife  in  the 
cave  of  the  field  of  Machpelah  before  Mamre ;  the  same 
is  Hebron  in  the  land  of  Canaan.” 

Watching  and  waiting  for  many  years  beside  his  wife’s 
resting-place,  the  old  man  sent  his  servant  Eleazar  to 
bring  a  wife  to  his  son,  and  it  was  somewhere  on  these 
fields  that  Isaac  was  walking  and  meditating  at  evening 
and  met  Rebekah.  For  twenty-five  years  of  his  old  age 
she  was  the  daughter  of  Abraham,  but  he  had  comforted 
himself  with  another  wife,  and  had  now  a  host  of  children, 
who  perhaps  displaced  in  some  measure  the  older  son  in 
his  affections.  More  likely  still  is  it  that  they  were  a  trial 
to  his  old  age,  for  they  were  men  whose  names  are  lost  in 
the  rolls  of  the  servants  of  his  God  on  earth. 

But  when  the  old  man,  the  mighty  patriarch,  whose 
name  was  a  terror  to  the  kings  of  the  land,  both  for  the 
prowess  of  his  own  stout  arm  and  the  promise  that  the 
very  name  contained  of  a  coming  multitude  to  possess 
their  country,  when  Abraham  at  length  departed  to  that 
sublime  company  in  which  he  recognized  Noah,  and  sat 
down  by  Adam,  Abel,  and  Enoch,  where  henceforth  his 
open  arms  would  receive  the  hosts  of  his  descendants 
who  sought  his  bosom,  his  younger  children,  either  too 


l 


THE  PATRIARCHS. 


247 


young  to  take  part  in  the  ceremony,  or  offended  at  the 
old  man’s  will,  in  which  he  disowned  them  and  gave  his 
whole  estate  to  Isaac,  and  lacking  the  affection  that  the 
elder  had,  are  not  heard  of  at  his  grave.  But  the  wan¬ 
derer,  the  oldest  son,  not  demanding  or  desiring  aught 
hut  a  son’s  privilege,  returned  to  the  valley  from  the 
southern  plains,  and  “  his  sons  Isaac  and  Ishmael  buried 
him  in  the  cave  of  Machpelah,  in  the  field  of  Ephron.” 

Isaac  was  a  very  slow  sort  of  man.  No  event  of  his 
life  marked  it.  He  was  born,  lived,  and  died  in  this  valley, 
content,  like  other  sons  of  rich  men,  to  live  on  his  inher¬ 
ited  estates.  He  was  apparently  very  easily  managed  from 
boyhood.  He  submitted  without  resistance  to  the  pro¬ 
posed  sacrifice  in  the  land  of  Moriah,  and  when  he  was 
forty  years  old,  and  his  mother  was  dead,  he  made  no  ob¬ 
jection  to  his  father’s  choice  of  a  wife  for  him.  When  he 
saw  her  “  he  brought  her  into  his  mother  Sarah’s  tent, 
and  took  Rebekah,  and  she  became  his  wife.  And  he 
loved  her;  and  Isaac  was  comforted  after  his  mother’s 
death.” 

The  inferior  of  his  keen  wife,  and  absolutely  sold  by  his 
sharp  son  Jacob,  there  is  no  incident  of  his  life  that  evinces 
any  thing  in  his  character  above,  scarcely  indeed  up  to 
the  common  order  of  humanity. 

Esau  was  every  whit  a  nobleman.  The  character  of  the 
older  son  shines  even  in  contrast  with  that  of  Jacob, 
whose  evil  traits  have  become  proverbial  as  characteristic 
of  his  descendants.  When  his  father  and  mother  were 
grieved  because  of  his  wives,  Esau  Avent  and  married  his 
uncle  Ishmael’s  daughter,  who  he  thought  would  please 
them.  But  deprived  by  his  sharp  brother  of  his  birth¬ 
right  and  his  blessing,  he  did  for  a  moment  promise 
himself  revenge,  a  thought  that  gave  place  to  better  de¬ 
terminations  at  length.  When  time  had  made  him  an  old 
man,  and  he  and  Jacob  carried  a  hundred  years  of  life  on 


248 


BURIAL  SCENES. 


their  bent  shoulders,  Isaac  gave  up  the  ghost  and  died, 
and  was  gathered  unto  his  people,  and  his  sons  Esau  and 
Jacob  buried  him.  Once  more  the  great  cavern  opened 
its  portals  to  receive  to  the  silent  companionship  of  Abra¬ 
ham  and  Sarah  their  only  son,  and  once  again  for  his  wife 
Rebekah. 

In  the  still  night  that  rested  on  Mamre,  I  could  see  the 
tall  forms  of  the  two  great  sons  of  Isaac,  standing  before 
the  grand  sepulchre  ;  Esau,  stern  and  magnificent,  the 
prince  of  Seir,  Jacob,  weak  and  trembling,  the  shepherd 
of  Canaan.  The  one  stout  and  strong  in  his  own  pride 
and  confidence,  like  the  desert  princes  of  this  day,  the 
other,  bent  and  feeble  with  premature  age  and  decay. 

Then  the  cave  received  the  form  of  Leah  to  its  increas¬ 
ing  company,  and  then  it  was  closed  and  deserted,  and 
none  of  the  descendants  of  the  great  father  of  the  faithful 
were  near  to  watch  his  place  of  rest. 

But  the  stillness  of  the  valley  of  Eshcol  was  broken 
by  the  sound  of  an  advancing  army  and  the  heavy  notes 
of  mournful  music.  Men  called  it  the  mourning  of  the 
Egyptians,  nor  did  they  understand  that  he  whose  bones 
were  brought  with  such  majestic  pomp  to  the  cave  of 
Machpelah,  was  the  father  of  a  race  of  kings  who  should 
possess  the  land  of  Canaan  for  a  thousand  years. 

I  saw  this  scene,  too,  on  the  hill-side.  The  stone  was 
rolled  back  from  the  door,  and  the  eyes  of  men  might 
again  gaze  in  on  the  repose  of  the  fathers.  The  bier  was 
set  down  at  the  entrance,  and  twelve  stalwart  men, 
robed  as  princes,  stood  over  the  dust  of  the  great  dead, 
and  bowed  their  heads  in  reverence.  One,  most  royal 
of  all,  in  form  and  feature  as  in  apparel,  stood  by  his  fath¬ 
er’s  head  and  pledged  his  love  to  his  stout  brethren 
thenceforth  forever,  and  they  lifted  Israel  to  the  side  of 
his  father  Isaac  and  his  beloved  Leah,  as  he  had  bidden 
them  in  that  exquisite  sigh  of  the  old  man’s  dying  hour : 


THE  CLOSED  TOMB. 


249 


“  I  am  to  be  gathered  unto  my  people !  Bury  me  with 
my  fathers,  in  the  cave  that  is  in  the  field  of  Ephron,  the 
Hittite,  in  the  cave  that  is  in  the  field  of  Machpelah,  which 
is  before  Mamre,  in  the  land  of  Canaan,  which  Abraham 
bought  with  the  field  of  Ephron,  the  Hittite,  for  a  pos¬ 
session  of  a  burial-place.  There  they  buried  Abraham 
and  Sarah  his  wife ;  there  they  buried  Isaac  and  Rebekah 
is  wife,  and  there  I  buried  Leah.” 

“And  when  Jacob  had  made  an  end  of  commanding 
his  sons,  he  gathered  up  his  feet  into  the  bed,  and  yielded 
up  the  ghost,  and  was  gathered  unto  his  people.”  And 
then  the  cave  of  Machpelah  was  closed  against  the  dead, 
and  no  more  came  to  the  assembly  in  its  gloom.  Some 
have  indeed  supposed  that  Joseph  was  at  last  carried  to 
his  father’s  resting-place,  but  we  have  no  authority  for 
believing  that  his  bones  were  removed  from  Shechem. 
As  years  passed,  the  sacrilegious  hands  of  men  may  have 
rifled  the  tomb  of  its  sacred  contents,  and  scattered  the 
dust  of  the  patriarchs  on  the  soil  of  their  beautiful  valley. 
The  oak  that  spreads  its  giant  arms  on  the  plain,  may 
have  within  its  stout  form  some  of  the  blood  of  Abraham. 
The  vines  that  gleam  in  autumn  with  their  golden  fruits, 
may  spring  from  the  dust  of  Rebekah.  The  solitary  palm 
that  stands  by  the  great  mosk,  may  have  taken  its  stately 
beauty  from  the  graceful  form  of  Leah. 

But  the  place  itself  has  never  been  forgotten,  and  can 
not  now  be  mistaken. 

The  force  of  God’s  promise  to  his  faithful  servant  came 
over  me  with  a  force  and  beauty  I  had  never  before  ex¬ 
perienced,  as  I  looked  up  again  at  the  same  stars  that 
Abraham  saw  when  God  bade  him  look  on  them  and  see 
the  number  of  his  children. 

Four  thousand  years  have  passed  since  that  promise 
wras  made  on  the  plains  of  Mamre,  and  it  has  been  long 
since  fulfilled.  The  children  of  Abraham,  a  host  more 

11* 


250 


THE  PROPHECY  FULFILLED. 


than  any  man  can  number,  having  suffered  captivity  in 
Egypt,  and  wandered  through  the  wilderness  of  Expia¬ 
tion,  possessed  the  land  of  that  promise,  built  in  it  gor¬ 
geous  cities,  and  the  temple  which  God  disdained  not  to 
occupy  with  his  visible  presence,  offered  sacrifices  for  cen¬ 
turies  on  the  high  altar  of  Isaac’s  offering,  and  then  were 
swept  away  on  the  wind,  like  the  smoke  of  their  own  in¬ 
cense.  The  song  of  their  temple  ceased  to  be  heard, 
except  in  the  mournful  echoes  of  the  tombs  of  Jehosha- 
phat.  The  smoke  of  the  daily  sacrifice  ceased  to  ascend, 
but  gathered  and  hung  in  a  gloomy  cloud  over  the  holy 
hill,  invisible  to  mortal  eyes  indeed,  but  visible  to  immor¬ 
tal,  as  the  evidence  of  the  accomplished  vengeance  of  God. 

They  offered  their  last  great  sacrifice  on  Calvary,  cru¬ 
cified  their  Lord,  and  invoked  the  curse  of  his  blood  on 
themselves  and  their  children.  Then  the  promise  to 
Abraham  now  totally  and  forever  forfeited,  they  were 
scattered  over  the  face  of  the  earth,  persecuted,  driven 
up  and  down  the  highways  and  byways  of  life,  among  all 
people,  until  the  name  of  Abraham  became  a  reproach 
among  men,  and  Israel  the  scoff  of  every  nation.  The 
descendants  of  the  barbarian  inhabited  the  land,  and  then 
the  children  of  Ishmael  and  of  Esau  returned  to  possess 
it,  and  the  blessing  of  Isaac  on  his  nobler  son,  “  By  thy 
sword  shalt  thou  live,  and  shalt  serve  thy  brother,  and  it 
shall  come  to  pass,  when  thou  shalt  have  the  dominion, 
thou  shalt  break  his  yoke  from  off  thy  neck,”  was  fulfilled, 
and  the  birthright  which  Israel  bought  for  a  mess  of 
pottage,  and  sold  again  to  the  nations  of  the  earth  for 
old  garments  to  conceal  his  nakedness  and  shame,  Esau 
retook  by  his  sword,  and  possesses  unto  this  day. 

High  over  all  in  the  serene  sky,  the  stars  that  heard 
the  promise,  and  were  indeed  the  letters  of  light  in  which 
it  was  written,  remain  calm,  and  cold,  and  unchanged, 
above  the  valley  of  Hebron,  as  calm  and  cold  to-night, 


VISIT  TO  THE  MOSK. 


251 


above  my  head,  as  when  their  eyes  fell  on  the  white  tents 
of  Abraham,  and  the  laughing  eyes  of  the  incredulous 
Sarah. 

I  did  not  sleep  that  night.  Regiments  of  fleas  at¬ 
tacked  me,  whole  armies  in  perfect  organization,  and  I 
turned  out  at  daylight  in  a  humor  to  fight  Hebronites. 
Nor  was  I  likely  to  go  without  the  opportunity. 

We  rode  out  early  to  the  mosk.  I  had  strong  hopes 
of  being  able  to  effect  an  entrance,  but  these  were  utterly 
routed  when  I  saw  the  crowd  in  front  of  the  great  door¬ 
way.  We  sent  for  Sheik  Khalil,  a  venerable  old  man, 
who  is  the  chief  in  the  Haram,  and  while  we  waited,  the 
crowd  shouted  at  us  all  the  derisive  names  they  could  in¬ 
vent.  I  think  the  old  man  gets  his  name  as  a  bishop 
does,  from  his  diocese. 

We  had  learned  how  to  manage  this  sort  of  people, 
and  so  long  as  they  did  us  no  harm  wTe  let  them  enjoy 
their  own  voices.  Wliitely  would  hurl  a  lot  of  English 
epithets  at  them  once  in  a  while,  and  amuse  himself  by 
an  indiscriminate  cursing  of  their  fathers  and  prophets. 
But  it  wassail  blessing  as  much  as  cursing  to  them,  al¬ 
though  they  would  stop  and  listen  curiously  while  he 
talked. 

The  sheik  arrived,  and  instantly  bade  us  dismount  and 
enter  the  outer  gate  of  the  mosk  at  one  of  the  sides, 
which  wTe  did,  and  he  thereupon  shut  the  vast  doors  be¬ 
tween  us  and  the  enraged  people.  A  cry  was  raised 
among  them  that  he  was  going  to  take  us  into  the  mosk, 
and  the  town  was  alarmed.  But  there  were  a  dozen  of 
the  fanatical  dogs  inside  with  us,  and  they  shouted  back 
that  we  should  not  see  the  interior  of  the  Haram,  al¬ 
though  we  were  already  far  beyond  the  privilege  of 
Christians.  We  were  not  within  the  building,  but  only 
within  a  broad  alley-way  that  passes  up  the  outside  of  it, 
and  admits  the  visitor  to  a  door  at  a  hundred  feet  from 


252 


INTERIOR  OF  THE  MOSK. 


tlie  gate.  The  sheik  led  us  about  fifty  feet  to  a  door 
opening  into  his  own  house,  and  entering  this  we  mounted 
to  the  upper  floor,  where  his  reception  room  was  located. 
As  we  entered  it,  another  door  near  by  was  half  opened, 
and  a  white  hand  beckoned  Miriam  to  enter.  She  left  us 
and  disappeared  in  the  hareem,  where  she  describes  her 
reception  as  cordial,  and  decidedly  impressing.  A  young 
and  beautiful  Circassian  woman,  the  sole  wife  of  the  old 
sheik,  received  her  in  her  open  arms,  pressed  kisses  on 
both  her  cheeks,  and  overwhelmed  her  with  affectionate 
embraces.  Then  her  hair,  and  face,  and  dress,  and  orna¬ 
ments  underwent  the  strictest  examination,  and  her  gloves 
produced  immense  astonishment. 

We  sat  down  to  coffee  and  pipes  on  the  diwan  with 
Sheik  Khalil,  and  discussed  the  propriety  of  an  attempt 
to  enter  the  mosk.  The  old  man  expressed  his  perfect 
willingness  to  conduct  us  through  it  if  it  could  be  man¬ 
aged  secretly,  but  now  our  arrival  in  town  wTas  so  well 
known  that  it  was  out  of  the  question.  He  volunteered 
the  offer  of  admitting  me  if  I  would  return  from  Jeru¬ 
salem  alone  a  week  later,  in  disguise,  and  promised  to 
pass  an  entire  night  with  me  in  the  mosk.  I  can  never 
too  much  regret  my  inability  to  accomplish  this  under¬ 
taking. 

I  sent  Abd-el-Atti  into  the  mosk  wdiile  I  was  with  the 
sheik,  and  he  returned  and  gave  me  a  description ;  but 
he  could  not  draw  me  a  plan  that  I  could  understand. 
He  told  me  that  in  the  outer  court  was  a  tomb  called  that 
of  Joseph,  while  within  the  inner  mosk  were  the  several 
tombs  or  tumular  structures  of  the  patriarchs.  The  cave 
itself  opens  from  the  end  of  the  inner  building,  and  is  a 
dark  cavern,  across  the  mouth  of  which  the  floor  of  the 
mosk  passes,  so  that  the  visitor  walks  before  the  cave  and 
looks  down  into  it,  being  elevated  above  its  floor.  But  it 
is  so  dark  within  that  nothing  can  be  seen.  Kone  but 


SYMPTOMS  OF  A N  ATTACK. 


253 


royal  visitors,  or  those  high  in  the  Moslem  religion,  are 
ever  permitted  to  enter  the  cave,  and  its  contents  are  un¬ 
known. 

It  was  not  a  little  painful  to  find  myself  so  near  the 
spot  once  occupied  by  those  mighty  relics,  and  not  be 
allowed  to  see  it.  But  we  were  forced  to  content  our¬ 
selves  with  the  coffee  and  pipes,  and  the  religious  conver¬ 
sation  of  Sheik  Khalil,  who  was  a  trump  in  his  way,  and 
whose  Latakea  was  as  worthy  of  commendation  as  his 
piety.  He  talked  much  about  the  mosk,  but  I  could  not 
get  him  to  describe  the  interior  of  the  cavern. 

But  the  row  outside  at  length  became  terrific,  and  we 
began  to  think  that  if  we  did  not  hurry  out  they  would 
tear  the  mosk  down  to  get  at  us.  A  miserable  dog  of  a 
derweesh,  filthy  and  disgusting  in  his  appearance,  who  was 
inside,  and  to  whom  I  had  given  an  uncommonly  large 
bucksheesh,  was  howling  out  a  torrent  of  curses  in  return 
for  it  when  we  reached  the  gate,  which  was  still  closed. 

“  Shut  up  your  music-box,  old  fellow,”  shouted  White- 
ly,  in  a  voice  that  brought  the  scoundrel  to  his  senses  in 
an  instant,  and  as  he  suspended  his  vociferations  the  gates 
swung  open,  and  our  expectant  friends  had  a  view  of  us. 
They  were  silent  for  an  instant  while  we  mounted  our 
horses,  and  then  opened  a  lane  for  us  toward  the  bazaars. 
We  parted  from  Sheik  Khalil  with  profound  assurances 
of  distinguished  respect  and  regard,  sealed  with  a  dollar 
which  the  old  man  slipped  up  his  sleeve  with  a  dry  wink 
toward  his  derweesh  friend,  and  then  trusted  ourselves  to 
the  tender  mercies  of  five  hundred  as  vile-looking  men 
and  women  as  one  might  wish  to  see,  who  eyed  us  as  so 
many  hungry  dogs  would  eye  a  bone,  which  each  wished 
but  none  dared  to  seize.  As  we  advanced,  the  shouts  of 
derision  began  to  rise  behind  us,  and  the  lane  closed 
in.  Abd-el-Atti  led  our  march,  and  Whitely  and  myself 
brought  up  the  rear ;  the  brown  horse  and  the  bay  stepped 


254 


MORAL  SUASION. 


daintily  along ;  once  in  a  while  the  bay  sheered  into  the 
crowd,  in  a  way  much  pleasanter  to  the  rider  than  the 
people  on  foot. 

We  had  left  the  crowd,  and  were  slowly  advancing 
toward  the  bazaars,  when  a  stone  flew  by  my  head,  fol¬ 
lowed  by  a  volley.  Moved  by  the  same  impulse,  Whitely 
and  myself  wheeled  together,  and  each  drawing  a  revolver 
faced  the  crowd  that  was  advancing  down  the  narrow  street. 

The  shudder  of  fear  that  went  through  the  assembly 
wTas  actually  visible.  Two  balls  in  that  mass  would  have 
made  terrible  havoc.  We  stood  thus,  facing  each  other 
for  thirty  seconds,  and  then  I  raised  my  pistol  and  fired 
six  balls  successively  in  the  air,  and  replacing  it  in  my 
shawl  took  out  another  (my  volcanic  repeater),  and  shook 
it  in  their  faces. 

It  was  enough.  The  terror  of  that  revolver  will  re¬ 
main  in  Hebron  as  a  civilizer.  We  turned  our  horses’ 
heads  again  and  rode  very  slowly  on,  but  no  more  stones 
were  thrown,  nor  did  one  of  the  crowd  pass  that  spot. 

Ten  minutes  afterward  passing  the  lower  Pool  of  He¬ 
bron  which  is,  probably,  the  one  over  which  David  hung 
the  murderers  of  Ish-bosheth  (2  Samuel,  iv.  12),  and 
looking  leisurely  at  the  lower  end  of  the  town,  we  turned 
up  the  valley  and  bade  farewell  to  the  burial-place  of  the 
patriarchs. 

We  paused  a  half  hour  under  the  great  tree  in  the 
upper  part  of  the  valley,  of  which  I  have  spoken,  known 
as  the  terebinth  of  Abraham.  This  magnificent  tree,  by 
far  the  finest  in  Syria,  has  a  trunk  about  seven  feet  in 
diameter,  and  extends  its  branches  for  nearly  fifty  feet  in 
all  directions.  Its  great  size  and  its  situation  near  He¬ 
bron  has  given  it  its  name,  but  there  is  no  possibility  of 
its  dating  so  far  back  as  the  period  of  the  Saviour,  much 
less  of  Abraham. 

It  stands  in  the  midst  of  the  extensive  vineyards  of  the 


ROAD  TO  JERUSALEM. 


255 


valley  of  Eshcol  which,  at  the  time  of  our  visit,  wrere  in 
bud,  but  not  yet  in  leaf.  Every  thing  indicated  a  lux¬ 
uriant  growth  of  the  grape  in  this  valley,  and  the  ac¬ 
counts  that  we  received  were  like  those  that  the  spies 
gave  to  Moses. 

We  left  the  tree  at  11  o’clock,  retracing  our  way  some 
distance,  and  struck  into  the  Jerusalem  road  again. 

At  one  hour  from  Hebron  we  came  to  a  ruin,  heaps  of 
large  stones  and  the  remains  of  a  wall,  called  by  the 
Arabs,  Beit  Ibrahim,  the  house  of  Abraham.  The  sheik 
of  the  mosk  had  explained  to  me  in  the  morning  that  this 
was  where  Abraham  lived,  and  the  ruins  of  his  residence. 
Such  is  the  tradition. 

At  half  an  hour  further  we  passed  a  fountain  on  the 
right  with  ruins  near  it  and  hewn  tombs  in  the  face  of  a 
rocky  ridge  behind  it.  Immediately  opposite  to  this,  on 
a  high  hill,  stands  a  large  ruin  called  Beit  Gala.  One 
hour  from  this  we  crossed  a  hill  on  which  is  a  large  pool 
of  water,  and  the  finest  grove  of  olive-trees  I  have  seen  in 
Syria.  Large  stones  lie  scattered  around  in  various  di¬ 
rections,  but  there  was  no  distinct  ruin.  It  is  now  called 
Beit  O umar. 

We  pressed  on  more  rapidly  in  the  afternoon,  for  it 
grew  cold  and  the  wind  penetrated  our  coverings  and 
chilled  us.  The  road  was  awful.  I  need  scarcely  repeat 
this,  for  all  roads  in  Syria  are  alike.  But  there  are  places 
on  this  road  where  a  horse  can  with  difficulty  go  through 
the  narrow  passes  between  the  rocks,  and  where  the  foot¬ 
ing  is  dangerous  in  the  extreme.  I  would  sooner  think 
of  riding  up  into  the  fourth  story  of  an  American  house 
than  up  some  of  those  precipitous  passes. 

At  five  hours  from  Hebron  we  reached  the  Pools  of 
Solomon,  and  paused  only  to  water  our  horses,  standing 
a  few  moments  within  the  ruined  castle  for  shelter  from 
the  cutting  wind. 


256 


AMERICAN  FRIENDS. 


We  left  Bethlehem  on  the  right.  Three  fourths  of  an 
hour  from  the  pools  and  five  and  three  fourths  from  He¬ 
bron,  we  passed  Rachel’s  tomb.  J ust  here  the  road  was 
so  bad  that  I  preferred  trying  a  patch  of  ploughed  ground 
among  some  olives.  It  was  inclosed  in  a  stone  wall  three 
feet  high.  I  rode  the  bay  horse  at  it,  and  he,  instead  of 
going  over  it  as  I  intended  he  should,  mounted  the  wall 
and  went  twenty  feet  along  its  top,  as  easily  as  a  dog 
would  go,  and,  to  my  astonishment,  Miriam  followed  me, 
on  the  chestnut.  They  then  took  the  field  and  crossing  it 
at  an  easy  run,  went  over  the  low  wall  into  the  next,  and 
so  we  rode  on  for  a  fourth  of  a  mile,  when  we  turned  to 
the  road  again,  and  at  seven  hours  from  the  time  of  leav¬ 
ing  Hebron  we  rode  into  the  Jaffa  gate  of  Jerusalem. 

The  sun  was  setting  as  we  crossed  the  Hill  of  Evil 
Counsel,  and  its  red  beams  fell  on  the  walls  of  the  Holy 
City  with  a  rich  glow  that  made  them  singularly  beautiful. 
The  bleak  wind  blew  cold  across  the  hills  of  Ephraim  as 
we  passed  on,  and  our  cloaks  flew  out  on  the  breeze  as 
we  went  along  the  high  table  land  before  descending  into 
the  valley  of  Ben  Hinnom.  Never  was  home  and  fire 
more  welcome  to  cold  and  weary  pilgrims  than  was  the 
house  of  Antonio  to  us  that  night. 

Nor  was  Jerusalem  any  less  pleasant  to  us  for  that  a 
party  of  American  gentlemen  had  arrived  the  day  pre¬ 
vious,  among  whom  were  some  of  our  personal  friends. 

How  strangely  we  cross  each  others’  tracks  in  wander¬ 
ing  over  the  world.  In  this  party  were  two  gentlemen, 

our  good  friends  F - and  B - ,  of  Philadelphia.  We 

made  their  acquaintance  in  Jerusalem.  They  overtook 
us  in  Beyrout  again,  we  went  to  Stamboul  and  strolled 
through  the  gorgeous  bazaars  together,  and  made  a  party 
up  the  Bosphorus  to  the  Giant’s  mountain. 

They  went  to  the  Crimea,  but  a  month  later  we  found 
their  cards  on  our  table  in  the  Via  Babuino  at  Rome. 


WE  MET  IN  JERUSALEM. 


257 


They  left  us  there  and  went  homeward,  to  America,  as 
we  and  they  supposed,  but  two  months  after  that,  in  a 
railway  carriage,  at  Windermere  in  the  lake  country,  we 
heard  familiar  voices  in  the  next  carriage,  and  shouting  a 
Salaam  Aleikoum,  received  their  cheery  reply.  It  is  a 
pleasant  and  memorable  thing  to  say  of  a  friend,  “We 
met  first  in  Jerusalem.” 


-f«s 

* 


K 


J b c  £i?ices. 


The  reader  who  is  not  interested  in  the  discussion  of 
the  topography  of  Jerusalem,  and  the  locality  of  the  Holy 
Sepulchre,  will  lose  none  of  the  incident  of  travel  in  this 
volume  if  he  pass  directly  over  this  to  section  18. 

I  have  no  idea  that  these  subjects  can  be  finally  dis¬ 
posed  of  by  this  or  any  argument ;  but  I  believe  that  the 
discussion  by  successive  travelers  will  tend  to  throw  addi¬ 
tional  light  on  the  questions,  and  aid  in  the  ultimate  dis¬ 
covery  of  truth,  which  will  be  established  only  when 
excavations  can  be  carried  on  in  and  around  Jerusalem. 

I  am  confident  that,  with  proper  aid  and  a  firman  from 
the  Sultan,  I  could,  by  running  two  trenches  through  cer¬ 
tain  parts  of  the  city,  without  injury  to  existing  buildings, 
determine  questions  which  are  of  more  interest  to  the 
Christian  world  than  all  the  discoveries  of  Egypt  and 
Assyria.  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  some  one  will  be  allowed 
to  do  this  before  long ;  meantime  we  must  be  content  to 
argue  the  matter. 

I  have  differed  materially  from  Dr.  Robinson,  the  dis¬ 
tinguished  American  traveler,  in  what  I  have  written ; 
nor  have  I  in  all  respects  agreed  with  Dr.  Williams,  his 
learned  opponent,  on  the  questions  relating  to  the  Holy 
Places.  I  am  indebted  to  both  these  gentlemen  for  the 
aid  their  research  has  afforded  in  the  historical  part  of 
the  argument. 


N 


1. 

2. 

3. 

4. 

5. 

6. 
7. 


8. 

9. 

10. 
11. 


Principal  door. 

Place  for  Turkish  guards. 
Stone  of  unction. 

Tomb  of  Godfrey. 

Tomb  of  Baldwin. 

Tomb  of  Melchisedek . 
Chapel  of  Adam  and  ot 
John  Baptist. 

Tomb  of  Adam. 
Robing-rooms. 

Armenian  altar. 

Place  where  Virgin  Mary 
stood  while  the  body  was 
anointed. 

Stairway  to  Armen,  chapel 
and  lodgings. 

Chapel  of  the  Angel. 

,  The  Holy  Sepulchre. 

Altar  of  the  Copts. 

Altar  of  the  Syrians. 
Tombs  of  Joseph  and  Nico- 
demus. 

The  arch  entrance  to  cen¬ 
tral  Greek  chapel. 

Greek  “  centre  of  world.” 
Monks’  stalls. 

22.  Greek  Patriarch’s  seat 
Place  of  the  paintings. 
Table  of  Prothesis. 

Holy  Table.  ,  „ 

Great  throne  of  Greek  Pa¬ 
triarch. 


23. 

20. 

30. 


31. 

32. 


33. 


REFERENCES. 

27.  Where  Christ  appeared  to 
Mary  Magdalene  as  a 
gardener. 

Where  M.  M.  stood. 

Altar  of  Franks. 

Part  of  the  pillar  of  fla¬ 
gellation. 

Church  of  the  Latins. 
Where  Christ  appeared  to 
his  mother  after  resur¬ 
rection.  .  , 

Place  of  recognition  ot  tlie 
Cross. 

Latin  robing-room. 

Place  of  Christ’s  bonds. 
Chapel  of  the  Virgin. 
Chapel  of  Longinus  the 
Centurion. 

Chapel  of  parting  the  gar¬ 
ments. 

39.  Chapel  of  the  mocking.. 

40.  Stairs  in  solid  rock  going 
down  49  steps. 

Chapel  of  St.  Helena. 
Chapel  of  Penitent  Thief. 
13  steps  down  in  the  rock. 
Chapel  of  the  finding  of  the 
Cross. 

Altar  of  Franks. 

Latin  and  Greek  stairs  to 
Calvary,  which  is  over 
the  figures  7 ,  S. 


34. 

35. 

36. 

37. 


T3. 


14 


28. 


15. 


16. 


17. 


18. 


19. 


20 


21, 


23. 


45. 


24 


46. 


25. 


26 


THE  HOLY  SEPULCHRE. 


259 


TOPOGRAPHY  OF  JERUSALEM. 


I. 

GENERAL  TOPOGRAPHY. 

Modern  Jerusalem  is  not  the  same  city  in  size  or  shape 
that  stood  on  the  hills  in  the  days  of  Christ.  The  ancient 
Jerusalem  was,  in  fact,  two  cities  which  had  grown  to¬ 
gether  ;  Zion,  on  its  hill,  enclosed  in  strong  walls ;  Mo¬ 
riah,  the  hill  of  the  temple,  equally  strong ;  and  the 
houses  which  filled  the  deep  valley  between  them.  The 
first  wall  of  the  entire  city  connected  these  two  hills,  and 
served  only  to  fortify  the  intermediate  space ;  while  all 
of  the  city  outside  these  walls,  and  it  was  doubtless  very 
large,  remained  unprotected  against  enemies,  until  a  very 
late  period. 

Our  only  means  of  knowledge  in  relation  to  the  topo- 
*  graphy  of  ancient  Jerusalem  are  the  Scriptures  of  the 
Old  and  New  Testaments,  the  writings  of  Josephus,  and 
the  works  of  early  fathers.  Josephus  wrote  within  the 
first  century,  and  Eusebius  something  more  than  two 
hundred  years  later.  The  former  was  present  at  the 
siege  of  Jerusalem,  about  a.d.  70;  the  latter  was  present 
at  the  dedication  of  the  Church  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre  in 
a.d.  335,  and  had  probably  been  well  acquainted  with 
Jerusalem  for  many  years  prior  to  that  date.  He  wrote 
his  Life  of  Constantine  after  that  emperor’s  death,  which 
occurred  a.d.  340. 

The  descriptions  of  Josephus  profess  to  be  accurate. 
In  some  respects  they  are  so ;  in  others  probably  quite 
otherwise. 

Enough  is  clear,  however,  to  enable  us  to  fix  the  position 
of  Zion  and  Moriah.  These  two  great  hills  have  never 
been  doubted.  The  reader  will  bear  in  mind  my  simple 
illustration  of  the  appearance  of  Jerusalem,  in  which  I 
likened  it  to  a  two-lined  fork,  Zion  being  the  right  hand 
and  shorter,  Moriah  the  left  and  longer  tine, 


260 


NORTH  BROW  OF  ZION. 


Abundant  evidence  is  afforded  us  in  Jerusalem  that 
the  north  side  of  Zion  was  precipitous.  The  fact  that  it 
is  not  so  now  has  been  a  subject  of  great  difficulty  to 
those  who  have  not  examined  the  foundation  and  location 
of  the  present  citadel,  near  the  Jaffa  gate. 

Looking  on  this  from  the  west,  half  way  to  the  upper 
Pool  of  Gihon,  no  one  can  long  hesitate  to  admit  that 
the  castle  of  David,  so  called,  stands  on  the  extreme 
north  point  of  Zion,  and  that  there  was  a  deep,  narrow 
ravine  extending  across  this  tine  of  the  fork,  completely 
cutting  it  off. 

If  there  were'  no  other  evidence  of  this  than  the  forty- 
eighth  Psalm— that  passage  which  as  yet  has  found  no  in¬ 
telligible  explanation — “  Beautiful  for  situation,  the  joy 
of  the  whole  earth,  is  Mount  Zion,  on  the  sides  of  the 
north,  the  city  of  the  great  king,”  is  sufficient  to  lead  to 
the  belief  that  Mount  Zion  had  a  fine  situation  on  the 
northern  side.  Every  other  reading  weakens  the  force 
of  the  passage.  But  we  are  not  left  in  doubt  about  it, 
since  Josephus  repeatedly  speaks  of  and  describes  this 
northern  declivity  of  Zion,  which  Titus  never  succeeded 
in  capturing  until  it  was  deserted  in  fright  by  its  Jewish 
defenders.* 

Zion  then  extended  only  as  far  north  as  this  ravine. 
Of  the  shape  of  this  ravine  we  shall  speak  hereafter. 

There  remain  two  other  hills  to  be  located ;  and  about 
these  there  is  much  difference  of  opinion.  Josephus  calls 
them  Akra  and  Bezetha.  Akra  was  •  separated  from 
Mount  Zion  by  a  valley  which  Josephus  calls  the  valley 
of  the  Tyropceon,  which  may  be  translated  the  valley  of 
the  Cheesemakers,  To  locate  this  vallev  and  the  hills 
Akra  and  Bezetha  is  then  our  first  object. 

My  views  of  the  position  of  Akra  are  different  from 
those  of  Dr.  Robinson  on  the  one  hand,  and  Dr.  Williams 
oq  the  Qther, 


*  B,  J.  ix.  8,  4, 


THE  OTHER  HILLS. 


261 


II. 

AKRA  AND  BEZETHA. 

Before  proceeding,  however,  I  beg  leave  to  call  the 
reader’s  attention,  especially  if  he  be  one  who  has  visited 
J erusalem,  to  the  fact  that  the  surface  of  the  ground  has 
changed  very  much  since  the  days  of  Josephus,  par¬ 
ticularly  in  the  bottoms  of  the  valleys,  where  the  ac¬ 
cumulation  would  be  naturally  greatest.  At  any  point 
in  the  valley,  between  Zion  and  Moriah,  there  must  have 
been  a  very  great  filling  up. 

All  the  descriptions  of  this  valley,  the  mention  of  steps 
from  the  temple  area  leading  down  into  it,  the  bridge 
that  crossed  it,  and  the  present  level  of  the  broken  arch 
which  remains,  indicate  that  the  bottom  of  this  valley 
was  not  less  than  thirty,  and  probably  fifty  feet  below  its 
present  level.  But  this  change  relates  only  to  the  valley. 
The  rocky  summit  of  the  hill  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  as 
well  as  the  position  of  the  Damascus  gate,  is  not  any 
lower  than  formerly. 

The  descent  of  the  land  from  the  Damascus  gate  to 
the  centre  of  this  valley,  must  have  been  very  much 
greater  than  now,  and,  indeed,  very  sharp  and  abrupt, 
especially  if  the  deep  trench  on  the  north  side  of  the 
temple  area  was,  as  is  probable,  carried  out  into  the 
valley. 

Begging  the  reader  to  place  himself  in  the  bottom  of 
this  depression,  as  it  then  was,  and  look  around  him,  I 
now  proceed  to  state  what  I  suppose  to  have  been  the 
location  of  the  hill  Akra,  and  its  relation  to  the  other 
hills  of  the  city. 

Zion,  all  are  agreed,  was  the  south-western  part  of  the 
city,  and,  although  I  heard  at  Jerusalem  an  idea  sug¬ 
gested  by  some  of  the  English  resident  missionaries,  that 


262 


AKRA  AND  BEZETIIA. 


Zion  included  the  whole  western  and  north-western  part 
of  the  city,  quite  out  to  the  present  north-west  corner  of 
the  walls,  I  aui  satisfied  no  one  will  seriously  maintain 
such  a  proposition  in  the  face  of  the  abundant  proofs  that 
the  north  wall  of  Zion  was  on  a  rocky  precipice.  Look¬ 
ing  around  us,  therefore,  we  see  coming  into  the  basin  in 
which  we  stand,  from  the  west,  a  narrow  ravine,  a  sort 
of  gorge  in  the  rock,  between  Mount  Zion  and  the  hill 
north  of  it.  On  both  hills  the  rows  of  houses  come  to 
the  edge  of  the  ravine  and  there  terminate.  From  the 
north  side  of  this  ravine  we  have  a  semicircular  hill-side, 
surrounding  this  basin  in  which  we  stand.  The  lower 
part  of  the  ridge  is  where  the  Damascus  gate  now  is,  but 
this  is  not  so  low  as  to  break  the  continuity  of  the  hill, 
which  sweeps  in  a  semicircle  around  the  north-west 
corner  of  the  temple  area,  and  falls  off  as  it  approaches 
that  area  on  the  north. 

This  moon-shaped  hill,  sloping  everywhere  in  toward 
the  basin,  I  suppose  to  be  Akra. 

The  end  of  the  moon  nearest  the  north  part  of  the 
temple  area  and  the  tower  of  Antonia,  possibly  by  reason 
of  some  slight  depression  intercepting  the  continuity  of 
the  ridge,  or  perhaps  all  that  portion  of  the  moon  east 
of  the  Damascus  gate,  where  the  depression  was  per¬ 
ceptible,  and  on  which,  not  long  prior  to  the  time  of 
Josephus,  the  new  city  was  extending,  had  gotten  to  be 
called  the  new  city ,  in  distinction  from  the  older  parts 
which  lay  otherwise  around  the  moon,  although  all  these 
parts  were  called  New  City,  in  contrast  with  Zion  the 
old  city  of  David.  Hence  Bezetha,  “  new  city,”  was 
the  name  given  to  that  part  of  Akra  which  lay  next 
the  fortress  Antonia  north  of  the  temple. 

And  now  to  the  evidence  of  this.  Josephus  says:* 
“  The  city  was  Lnilt  upon  two  hills  which  are  opposite 

*  B  J.  v.  4,  1. 


AKRA  AND  BEZETHA. 


263 


to  one  another,  and  have  a  valley  to  divide  them  asunder, 
at  which  valley  the  corresponding  rows  of  houses  on 
both  hills  end.  Of  these  hills,  that  which  contains  the 
upper  city  is  much  higher,  and  in  length  more  direct, 
accordingly  it  wras  called  the  citadel  by  King  David. 
*  *  *  But  the  other  hill,  which  was  called  Akra,  and 

sustains  the  lower  city,  is  shaped  like  the  horned  moon 
(curved  on  both  sides).  Over  against  this  was  a  third 
hill,  but  naturally  lower  than  Akra,  and  parted  formerly 
from  the  other  by  a  broad  valley.  However,  in  those 
times  when  the  Asmoneans  reigned  they  filled  up  that 
valley  with  earth,  and  had  a  mind  to  join  the  city  to 
the  temple.  They  then  took  off  part  of  the  height  of 
Akra,  and  reduced  it  to  be  of  less  elevation  than  it  was 
before,  that  the  temple  might  be  superior  to  it.  Now 
the  valley  of  the  Cheesemongers  (Tyropoeon)  as  it  was 
called,  and  was  that  which  we  told  you  before  dis¬ 
tinguished  the  hill  of  the  upper  city  from  that  of  the 
lower,  extended  as  far  as  Siloam.  *  *  *  But  on  the 

outside  these  hills  are  surrounded  by  deep  valleys,  and 
by  reason  of  the  precipices  to  them  belonging,  on  both 
sides  they  are  everywhere  impassable.” 

I  have  taken  Whiston’s  translation  with  some  slight 
alterations,  but  as  yet  no  translation  of  Josephus  is  suf¬ 
ficiently  accurate  for  the  purposes  of  this  discussion,  and 
I  give  this  but  for  the  general  idea,  reserving  for  another 
place  some  changes  in  this  reading. 

The  points  which  we  derive  from  this  passage  are 
these.  n 

1.  Akra  was  divided  from  Zion  by  a  valley,  in  which, 
for  some  reason,  houses  were  not  built. 

2.  That  the  form  of  Akra  was  a  word  sus¬ 

ceptible  of  various  translations,  but  which  is  generally 
rendered  “moon-shaped.”  Dr.  Bobinson  translates  it 
“  gibbous.” 


264 


A  K  li  A  AND  EEZETIIA. 


We  are  not  left  in  doubt  as  to  the  precise  meaning 
of  this  word  which  I  shall  translate  “moon-shaped;” 
another  extract  from  Josephus  will  sufficiently  settle  it. 

Speaking  of  the  western  site  of  the  temple  area,  and 
the  gates  therefrom,  Josephus  says  that  one  led  “into 
the  other  city,  being  distinguished  (or  intercepted)  by 
many  steps  down  into  the  chasm  (or  gulf),  and  from  this 
up  again  upon  the  entrance  way  ( ascent  according  to 
Robinson).  For  the  city  lay  over  against  the  temple  in 
the  manner  of  a  theatre ,  being  held  up  around  by  a 
deep  gulf  as  to  all  its  southern  slope.” 

From  this  it  appears  very  certain  that  the  shape 
of  Akra  was  that  of  a  new  moon,  like  an  ancient  theatre 
surrounding  a  deep  gulf  or  valley,  and  I  apprehend 
no  possible  location  can  be  given  to  it  to  answer  the 
description  of  Josephus  other  than  this. 

The  chief  and  only  objection  to  the  idea  is  that  found 
in  the  location  of  JBezetha  as  described  by  Josephus. 

This  description  is  not  given  in  the  course  of,  or  in 
connection  with,  the  description  of  the  hills  on  which  the 
city  was  built.  On  the  contrary,  that  description  is 
genera],  and  the  statement  is  that  the  city  was  built 
upon  two  hills,  m,  Akra  and  Zion.  Subsequently,  in 
speaking  of  the  wTalls  of  the  city,  and  of  the  third  wTall 
especially,  he  says  (I  use  Dr.  Robinson’s  translation)  : 

“  This  (third  wall)  Agrippa  put  around  the  new  built  city, 
which  was  quite  naked.  For  the  city,  overflowing  with 
the  multitude,  had,  by  little  and  little,  crept  beyond  the 
walls,  and  uniting  with  itself  the  parts  on  the  north  of  the 
temple  at  the  hill,  had  advanced  not  a  little ;  so  that  a 
fourth  hill,  called  Bezetha,  was  now  dwelt  around,  lying 
over  against  Antonia,  and  separated  from  it  by  a  deep 
fosse.  For  a  trench  had  here  been  cut  through  on  pur- 
pose  ;  lest  the  foundations  of  Antonia,  being  joined  to 
this  hill,  should  be  easily  accessible,  and  less  lofty.  *  *  * 


KRA  AND  BEZETHA, 


265 


This  new  built  part  is  called  in  our  language  Bezetha, 
which,  being  interpreted  in  the  Greek  tongue,  would  be 
Ctenopolis  (New  City).” 

And  again : 

“  This  hill  Bezetha  was  separated,  as  I  said,  from  An¬ 
tonia  ;  and,  being  the  highest  of  all,  it  was  built  up  ad¬ 
joining  to  a  part  of  the  new  city,  and  alone  overshadowed 
the  temple  on  the  north.” 

Akra  was  the  general  name  of  the  whole  hill,  of  which 
Bezetha  became  the  name  of  a  part,  when  the  new  city 
came  to  be  built  on  it,  and  the  highest  of  all  the  hills  until 
cut  down  as  hereafter  described.  Or,  if  this  idea  ap¬ 
pear  not  allowable,  we  have  the  hill  on  the  north  of  the 
temple  inclosure,  which  Robinson  refers  to  when  he  says 
that  the  hill  east  of  the  Damascus  gate  “  does  not  extend 
to  the  valley  of  Jehoshaphat,  but  there  intervenes  the 
rocky  ridge  upon  and  along  lohich  the  eastern  wall  is 
built p  and  which  is  the  hill  more  particularly  separated 
from  Moriah  by  the  fosse  now  called  the  Pool  of  Beth- 
esda.  Wherever  it  was,  it  immediately  adjoined  the 
north  wall  of  Antonia,  except  as  separated  by  the  trench, 
which  I  agree  with  Dr.  Robinson  was  this  deep  place, 
now  commonly  called  the  Pool  of  Bethesda ;  but  which  I 
have  no  doubt  was  originally  a  broad  and  probably  dry 
trench,  but  was  more  lately  used  as  a  pool,  as  indicated 
by  its  cemented  walls.  It  was  not  separated  from  Moriah 
by  any  valley.  The  trench  was  necessary  to  form  a 
separation.  The  statement  of  Josephus,  that  the  Mac¬ 
cabees  worked  down  the  height  of  Akra,  and  made  it 
lower,  so  that  the  temple  might  appear  above  it 
{in TEpcpaLvoLTw),  is  very  important  to  the  argument  locat¬ 
ing  Akra. 

Elsewhere,*  he  informs  us  that  Antiochus  built  a  cit¬ 
adel  in  the  lower  part  of  the  city,  on  a  hill  that  was  so 

*  Ant.  xii.  6,  4. 

12 


266 


AKllA  AND  BEZETHA. 


high  that  it  overlooked  the  temple,  and  afterward,*  that 
Simon  destroyed  the  citadel,  and  “thought  best  to  level 
the  very  hill  itself  on  which  the  citadel  stood,  that  so  the 
temple  might  be  higher  than  it.”  And  he  thereupon  ex¬ 
horted  the  people  to  do  it,  and  they  set  to  work  and 
labored,  day  and  night,  three  whole  years,  before  it  was 
removed,  and  brought  to  a  level  with  the  plain  of  the 
rest  of  the  city. 

Now  there  is  no  possible  point  in  the  lower  city  which 
could  so  command  the  temple  as  this  is  described,  except 
the  hill  east  of  the  Damascus  gate,  and  north  of  Antonia. 
But  what  hill  has  been  cut  down  ?  Certainly  a  work  so 
gigantic  can  not  have  been  done,  and  left  no  traces  of 
its  results. 

If  the  hill  west  of  the  Damascus  gate  and  north  of  Zion 
alone  be  Akra,  then  it  is  impossible  that  this  statement 
can  be  correct,  for  this  reason,  that,  from  the  moment 
that  this  hill  commences  to  rise  from  the  depth  of  the 
valley  between  the  hills,  it  never  ceases  to  rise  for  a  dis¬ 
tance  of  eight  miles,  and  the  ridge,  constantly  ascending, 
sweeps  around  the  north  and  west  of  the  upper  Pool  of 
Gihon,  toward  the  distant  mountains  of  Ephraim,  without 
a  break  in  its  steady  upward  grade.  There  is  therefore 
of  course  no  point  where  they  could  have  worked  it  down, 
so  that  the  temple  might  any  better  appear  above  it,  nor 
is  there  any  object  to  be  seen  in  giving  such  a  view  to 
the  westward,  where,  beyond  the  valley  of  Gihon,  the 
hills  all  commanded  a  full  view.  Nor  is  there  any  re¬ 
maining  evidence  of  any  such  cutting  down  on  any  part 
of  this  hill,  as  there  most  certainly  would  be. 

But  on  the  north  the  hill  might  well  need  cutting 
down,  so  as  to  give  a  view  of  the  temple  for  miles  up  the 
sloping  table-land,  and  here  there  is  the  complete  evi¬ 
dence  of  the  manner  in  which  the  work  was  done. 

*  Ant.  xiii.  6,  1. 


AKRA  AND  BEZETHA. 


267 


I  have  already  described  the  great  excavation  north  of 
the  north  wall,  and  east  of  the  Damascus  gate.  At  what 
time  these  quarries  were  commenced  it  is  impossible  to 
say.  I  presume  the  quarrying  was  commenced  as  early 
as  the  time  of  Solomon.  I  think  no  geologist  can  look 
carefully  at  this  spot — I  might  better  say,  no  stone-cutter 
or  man  who  has  seen  rock  cuttings — without  perceiving 
that,  at  some  period  in  their  advance,  it  was  for  some 
reason  decided  to  cut  away  the  entire  peak  of  the  hill, 
which  rises  from  the  north  of  the  temple  and  ascends  to 
the  present  wall,  where  it  is  now  cut  off  abruptly,  but 
whence  it  once  continued  some  hundred  and  fifty  or  two 
hundred  feet  further,  and,  having  reached  its  culmination, 
again  fell  off  to  the  north.  This  seems  to  me,  without 
doubt,  the  hill  which  was  hewn  down,  and  brought  to  the 
level  of  all  the  northern  parts  of  Jerusalem. 

But  I  have  yet  another  view  of  this  matter  to  take. 
Dr.  Robinson  gives  part  of  the  passage  from  Josephus,  as 
follows : 

“  Over-against  this  (Akra)  was  a  third  hill,  by  nature 
lower  than  Akra,  and  formerly  separated  by  another 
broad  valley.  But,  afterwards,  in  the  times  when  the 
Maccabees  ruled,  they  threw  earth  into  this  valley,  desir¬ 
ing  to  connect  the  city  with  the  temple.” 

This  third  hill  wTas  Mount  Moriah,  the  hill  of  the  temple. 
Row,  it  is  clear,  that  there  is  no  intimation  that  Akra  was 
separated  from  Moriah  by  any  valley.  Even  Dr.  Robin¬ 
son’s  peculiar  method  of  translating  the  passage  (which 
gives  us  a  sentence  actually  without  meaning),  is  certainly 
conclusive  that  the  “  other  broad  valley”  did  not  separate 
Akra  from  Moriah.  This  translation,  if  it  means  any 
thing,  implies  that  Moriah  itself  was  divided  by  another 
broad  valley.  But  the  Greek  is  nXareia  cpapayyi  dteip- 
yopevog  aXXrj  nporepov ,  and  the  correct  translation,  I 
apprehend,  “formerly  otherwise  separated  by  a  broad 


268  AKRA  AND  BEZETHA, 

valley,”  that  is,  from  the  other  city.  The  sentence  will 
then  read  :  “  Over-against  this  was  a  third  hill,  by  nature 
lower  than  Akra,  and  formerly  otherwise  separated  (i.  e., 
from  the  other  city,  or  Zion)  by  a  broad  valley.  But, 
afterward,  in  the  times  when  the  Asmoneans  ruled,  they 
threw  earth  into  this  valley,  desiring  to  connect  the  city 
with  the  temple.” 

If,  as  I  have  supposed,  Akra  included  the  whole  moon¬ 
like  sweep  of  the  hill  from  Zion  to  the  fortress  of  An¬ 
tonia,  then  Akra  actually  needed  to  be  divided  from  the 
temple  by  the  trench,  instead  of  being  connected  with  it 
by  filling  up  a  valley.  And  we  are  left  to  look  for  such  a 
heaping  up  (%oa))  across  the  valley  of  the  Tyropoeon  be¬ 
low.  W e  are  at  no  loss  to  find  it.  The  causeway  across 
this  valley  has  long  been  a  subject  of  discussion.  Its  ex¬ 
istence  is  manifest  enough  to  the  eye,  since  it  is  impossible 
to  go  down  the  Tyropceon  valley  without  climbing  over  it 
as  it  crosses  the  valley  about  on  a  line  with  the  north  end 
of  Zion. 

The  sentence,  then,  has  a  distinct  meaning  and  connec¬ 
tion.  The  third  hill,  Moriah,  was  lower  than  Akra,  which 
actually  sloped  off  to  it  on  the  north  of  the  temple.  This 
was  its  relation  to  Akra.  Otherwise,  that  is  as  regards 
the  other  great  part  of  the  city,  Zion,  it  was  separated 
from  it  by  a  broad  valley,  which  afterward  the  Maccabees 
heaped  up  with  a  causeway,  so  that  the  approach  to  it 
from  that  city  should  be  as  nearly  on  a  level,  as  it  already 
was  from  the  new  city.  The  result  of  this  work  is  obvi¬ 
ous.  It  connected  the  temple  with  Zion,  as  it  was  already 
connected  with  Akra,  and  thus  it  was  possible  to  walk 
entirely  around  the  central  basin  of  the  city  on  an  un¬ 
varying  level,  crossing  the  Tyropoeon  and  the  trench  of 
Antonia  by  bridges. 

It  follows,  if  we  have  correctly  located  Akra,  that  the 
Tyropoeon  valley  is,  as  we  have  already  intimated,  that 


THE  HOLY  SEPULCHRE. 


269 


valley  which  cut  off  the  north  side  of  Zion,  and  on  the 
opposite  sides  of  whose  ravine  the  precipitous  cliffs  of 
Zion  and  Akra  arose.  This  valley  came  into  the  great 
basin  in  the  heart  of  the  city,  and  turning  southward, 
under  the  north-eastern  cliffs  of  Zion,  continued  down  to 
Siloam,  being  then  a  broader  valley,  but  retaining  the 
same  name.  The  objection  that  this  name  would  not  cor¬ 
rectly  apply  to  the  two  valleys  loses  its  force  if  we  believe 
the  crescent  shape  of  Akra,  which  I  have  suggested,  since 
there  would  then  be  no  other  valley  coming  into  the  basin 
except  this  one,  which  continued  by  a  uniform  descent 
toward  Siloam,  nor  is  it  impossible  that  the  salesmen 
who  gave  it  its  name  originally,  carried  on  their  business 
in  both  parts  of  the  valley,  which  would  be  a  sufficient 
reason  for  the  uniform  name. 


III. 

THE  HOLT  SEPULCHRE. 

I  have  already  stated  that  when  I  first  visited  the 
Church  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre  it  was  with  a  firm  con¬ 
viction  that  there  was  no  reason  whatever  for  regarding 
it  as  the  veritable  tomb  of  the  Lord.  On  the  contrary, 
my  mind  was  strongly  inclined  to  find  soraevspot  outside 
the  city  walls,  in  a  basin,  like  that  which  is  at  the  head  of 
the  valley  of  Jehoshaphat,  where  I  could  with  some  free¬ 
dom  of  imagination  locate  the  place  of  the  suffering  and 
the  burial.  For  it  is  remarkable,  that  the  common  idea 
that  Calvary  was  a  hill  has  no  authority  from  the  sacred 
writings,  and  my  own  preconceived  notion  had  been,  that, 
in  pursuance  of  a  custom  not  uncommon  among  the  Ro¬ 
mans,  especially  in  the  later  persecutions,  of  torturing 


270 


EVIDENCE  OF  THE  FATHERS. 


criminals  in  the  amphitheatres,  some  amphitheatrical  place 
would  have  been  chosen  for  the  uplifting  of  Christ. 

I  was,  therefore,  not  an  impartial  judge  of  the  evidence 
for  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  because  I  was,  in  fact,  strongly 
determined  against  it,  but  diligent  examination  and  study 
led  me  to  change  my  views,  and  to  believe  in  the  authen¬ 
ticity  of  the  Sepulchre  and  Calvary. 

The  only  point  at  present  in  doubt  about  the  Holy 
Sejiulchre  relates  to  the  evidence  prior  to  the  middle  of 
the  fourth  century.  It  is  agreed  on  all  hands  that  the 
present  site  is  that  fixed  on  by  Constantine,  or  his  repre¬ 
sentatives,  as  early  as  the  year  330.  I  should  perhaps  ex¬ 
cept  from  this  statement  one  English  writer,  who,  having 
never  visited  Jerusalem  himself,  has  published  some  the¬ 
ories  that  are  too  absurd  to  require  refutation,  and  who 
locates  the  Sepulchre  of  the  days  of  Constantine  on  the 
Hill  Moriah,  under  the  Dome  of  the  Rock!* 

What,  then,  was  the  evidence  which  satisfied  Eusebius, 
Jerome,  and  the  fathers  of  the  Church? 

Certainly,  the  onus  of  this  argument,  in  a  case  like  this, 
appears  to  be  all  on  the  other  side.  Venerable  fathers, 
three  hundred  years  after  the  crucifixion,  state  the  local¬ 
ities  in  phrases  that  show  that  at  that  period  they  were 
well  known  and  talked  of  universally,  and  he  who  doubts 
their  testimony  should  prove  it  false.  But  is  it  probable 
or  possible  that  in  the  days  of  Eusebius,  less  than  three 
hundred  years  after  the  death  of  Christ,  the  localities  of 
his  life  and  death  were  forgotten  ? 

It  is  a  brief  space  of  time  in  which  to  obliterate  such 
memories.  Had  events  of  even  trivial  importance  oc¬ 
curred  in  the  year  1550,  we  should  have  little  hesitation 
in  accepting  a  tradition  which  located  them  in  particular 
spots.  We  do  readily  accept  a  hundred  such.  There  is 

*  An  “Essay  on  the  Ancient  Topography  of  Jerusalem,”  etc.,  etc. 
London.  1841. 


EARLY  CHRISTIANS. 


271 


no  question  of  tradition  about  it.  It  is  not  to  be  called 
tradition  when,  after  a  lapse  of  but  three  hundred  years, 
Eusebius  heard  and  recorded  the  stories  of  the  Holy 
Places. 

The  children,  whom  in  his  brief  ministry  Christ  had 
blessed,  grew  up  among  the  scenes  that  he  had  sanctified, 
and  when  some  of  them  were  old  men,  old  as  we  count 
years  now,  without  adding  the  long  years  of  life  that  men 
sometimes  lived  then  as  now,  they  would,  doubtless,  point 
out  with  abundant  accuracy  the  spot  most  holy  in  their 
memories. 

It  is  not  to  be  questioned  that  there  were  scores 
of  men  living  in  the  year  100,  who  saw  the  sunlight 
darkened  on  the  day  of  the  crucifixion.  Nor  is  it  at  all 
probable  that  at  this  period  any  one  of  the  localities  most 
likely  to  be  cherished  was  lost.  Men  in  all  ages  are  but 
men,  and  there  has  been  no  country  nor  people  on  earth, 
since  the  days  of  Babel,  where  the  heart  of  man  has  not 
done  homage  to  the  localities  of  great  events.  He  who 
says  that  it  is  not  probable  that  the  early  Christians  cared 
for  these  localities,  makes  the  early  Christians  any  thing 
but  human.  On  the  contrary,  the  Bible  abounds  in  evi¬ 
dences  that  the  Jews  retained,  through  all  time,  the 
localities  of  great  events  in  their  history,  and  heaj)s  of 
stone  and  memorial  mounds  stood  for  centuries  as  marks 
of  such  spots,  where  men  paused  to  honor  the  memory  of 
the  great  past.  Even  the  most  skeptical  of  travelers  does 
not  doubt  the  locality  of  Rachel’s  tomb,  and  the  cave  of 
Maclipelah ! 

They  who  think  thus,  dishonor  the  very  religion  of  the 
Cross.  It  was  no  common  event  that  men  then  had  to 
keep  in  memory.  It  was  no  royal  pageant,  no  parting  of 
a  river’s  flow  to  let  an  army  pass,  no  death  of  a  mother 
of  a  nation,  no  dream  of  a  patriarch,  no  crowning  of  a 
king.  It  was  the  advent  of  the  long-expected  Messiah, 


272 


SPREAD  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


the  King  of  kings,  the  Saviour  of  Israel.  It  was  the  death 
by  cruel  hands  on  the  cross  of  the  Son  of  the  Unbegotten, 
the  offspring  of  the  mighty  God  of  Jacob.  It  is  verging 
closely  on  scorn  of  him  and  his  great  name  to  suppose 
that  within  the  century  after  his  life  on  earth  the  places 
which  he  hallowed  by  his  presence  were  forgotten  or  un¬ 
known. 

In  all  the  history  of  man  no  like  history  has  been  known 
of  the  spread  and  triumph  of  a  form  of  faith.  Other  re¬ 
ligions  have  been  propagated  by  the  sword,  and  in  cen¬ 
turies  have  made  great  advances,  but  the  religion  of  the 
crucified  Nazarene  in  three  centuries  had  conquered  the 
world,  and  emperors  worshiped  with  faces  toward  Jeru¬ 
salem.  And  yet  it  is  argued  that  the  locality  of  the  suf¬ 
fering,  the  burial,  and  the  ascension,  the  spot  where  man 
was  saved,  the  cross  to  which  the  sins  of  a  world  were 
nailed,  and  the  grave  from  which  its  Saviour  rose,  were 
forgotten  either  in  one,  two,  or  three  generations,  while 
the  religion  of  the  grave  and  the  cross  was  thus  conquer¬ 
ing  the  world. 

An  objection  which  some  writers  have  advanced  that 
the  Christians  were  driven  away  from  Jerusalem  after  its 
fall,  is  without  foundation  in  fact. 

In  fact,  the  Jews  were,  for  a  time,  expelled,  but  the 
Christians  were  not,  nor  is  there  any  evidence  that  they 
were  not  at  all  times  in  Jerusalem  in  great  numbers. 

The  notion  that  Jerusalem  was  absolutely  razed  to  the 
ground  and  a  ploughshare  run  over  its  site  is  a  very  com¬ 
mon  error.  Nothing  of  the  kind  occurred,  nor  does  there 
seem  to  be  any  foundation  for  the  idea  unless  in  a  desire 
on  the  part  of  some  to  claim  a  far  more  extensive  and 
literal  fulfillment  of  the  prophecy  of  Christ  than  he  himself 
designed  when  he  pointed  to  the  temple  and  said  that 
before  that  generation  had  passed  away  it  should  be  so 
destroyed  that  not  one  stone  should  remain  on  another. 


DESTRUCTION  OF  JERUSALEM. 


273 


Even  if  literally  to  be  fulfilled,  it  had  no  reference  to  any 
part  of  Jerusalem  but  the  temple  itself,  and  in  that  re¬ 
spect  it  has  been  sufficiently  accomplished.  But  of  the 
walls  and  erections  in  and  around  the  city  many  remain 
to  this  day  in  the  position  they  occupied  eighteen  hun¬ 
dred  and,  perhaps,  twenty-four  hundred  years  ago,  and  I 
seek  in  vain  among  all  the  accounts  of  the  destruction  of 
Jerusalem  for  any  evidence  that  even  the  lines  of  streets, 
the  ruins  of  houses  after  the  fire,  or  the  houses  them¬ 
selves  were  destroyed,  nor  is  there  any  evidence  in  history 
on  which  to  affirm  that  the  structures  now  pointed  out  as 
the  Arch  of  Judgment  and  the  Arch  of  the  Ecce  Homo, 
did  not  stand  in  the  days  of  the  Saviour,  whatever  other 
evidence  we  may  have  on  the  subject. 

The  expression  of  Josephus,  that  Titus  commanded  the 
city  to  be  demolished,  by  no  means  indicates  a  thorough 
sweeping  away  of  the  stones  themselves,  or  even  a  total 
destruction  of  the  houses,  nor  is  there  any  thing  in  the 
subsequent  history  that  leads  us  to  suppose  such  a  total 
demolition  accomplished.  Indeed,  it  is  remarkable  that  a 
part  of  the  city  was  especially  exempted  by  Titus  from 
that  destruction  which  came  on  the  rest,  and  by  this 
means  the  towers  of  Phasaelus  Hippicus  and  Mariamne 
were  left,  and  so  much  of  the  wall  as  inclosed  the  city  on 
its  west  side,  the  wall  being  preserved  for  a  shelter  to 
the  Roman  camp  now  established  in  the  city,  and  the 
towers  as  a  memorial  of  its  ancient  grandeur  and  the 
power  of  the  conquerors.  “  The  rest  of  the  wall,”  says  Jo¬ 
sephus,  “  was  so  entirely  thrown  down  even  with  the 
ground,  by  those  that  dug  it  up  to  the  very  foundations, 
that  there  was  nothing  to  make  those  that  came  thither 
believe  it  had  ever  been  inhabited  (or  contained  inhabit¬ 
ants).” 

Scarcely  half  a  century  after  this  “  total  destruction,” 
the  Jews  in  revolt,  under  Bar-Kochebas,  “the  Son  of  a 

12* 


274 


JERUSALEM  AGAIN  FORTIFIED. 


Star,”  sustained  a  three  years’  siege  in  the  same  Jerusalem, 
successfully  combatting  the  forces  of  Rome,  a  fact  that 
certainly  goes  very  far  toward  showing  that  the  city  was 
in  some  measure  restored  to  inhabitable  order,  and  the 
walls  rebuilt  on  those  sides  where  they  had  been  thrown 
down  to  the  ground. 

Again  Jerusalem  was  destroyed,  and  the  expressions  of 
Josephus  are  exceeded  by  Jerome,  who  says  that  it  was 
burned  and  destroyed  so  that  it  lost  its  very  name. 
Nevertheless  this  destruction  was  not  complete,  inas¬ 
much  as  Adrian,  whose  intention  to  rebuild  the  former 
city  as  a  garrison  city  has  been,  by  some,  stated  as  the 
cause  of  the  revolt,  did  actually  accomplish  his  intention, 
according  to  Eusebius,  and,  therefore,  we  have  again  the 
city  of  Jerusalem  on  its  ancient  foundations.  Nor  am  I 
able  in  any  of  the  accounts,  brief  and  incomplete  as  they 
are,  to  find  any  reason  for  doubting  that  the  city  was 
restored  on  its  ancient  lines,  and  that  the  streets  and  pas¬ 
sages  were  preserved  as  before  the  first  destruction.  Cer¬ 
tainly  this  would  have  been  the  easiest  and  most  practi¬ 
cable  plan  as  well  as  the  most  probable,  and  nothing  was 
done  in  either  destroying  by  which  any  of  the  localities 
were  placed  beyond  the  possibility  of  recognition.  There 
was  nothing  in  the  former  case  to  prevent  the  inhabitants 
claiming  and  taking  possession  of  their  own  houses  and 
lots,  nor  does  it  appear  that  they  were  in  any  manner 
ejected.  Christians  and  Jews  alike  lived  in  the  Holy  City 
at  all  times  prior  to  the  second  rebuilding.  It  is  impos¬ 
sible  then  that  any  spot  of  interest  in  the  history  of  Christ 
could  have  been  forgotten. 

This  brings  us  down  to  a  time  between  a.d.  130  and 
a.d.  140.  The  revolt  of  Bar-Kochebas  was  finally  crushed 
at  JBether ,  near  Jerusalem,  in  the  eighteenth  year  of  Adri¬ 
an,  corresponding  to  a.d.  135.  It  was  at  this  time  that, 
according  to  Jerome,  an  event  occurred  (about  which 


CHRISTIAN  CHURCH. 


275 


there  is  still  much  doubt  as  to  whether  it  really  did 
occur),  which  lias  afforded  the  only  foundation  of  the 
story  that  Titus  ran  a  ploughshare  over  the  site  of  J erusa- 
lem.  Titus  Annius  Rufus,  governor  of  Jerusalem  under 
Adrian,  is  said  to  have  run  a  ploughshare  over  the  site  of 
the  temple ;  but  this  ceremony,  for  it  was  nothing  else, 
needed  not  so  much  attention  as  has  been  given  to  it  by 
writers  in  later  years.  An  ancient  ploughshare,  wooden 
blocks  of  the  rudest  construction,  would  do  little  toward 
smoothing  ruins ;  and  the  best  modern  American  prairie- 
plough,  with  eight  or  a  thousand  yoke  of  oxen,  would  do 
little  practical  work  among  piles  of  stone,  each  of  which 
was  twenty  feet  long  by  five  and  three  in  thickness,  the 
accumulated  ruins  of  the  great  walls  of  Jerusalem.  The 
ancient  ceremony  of  running  a  ploughshare  over  a  con¬ 
quered  city  was  a  formality,  signifying  total  subjection. 
The  idea  that  it  proves  a  total  razing  of  walls  to  the 
ground  is  incorrect,  as  any  one  knows  who  has  seen  an¬ 
cient  ruins. 

The  Jews  were  now  (a.d.  135),  expelled  from  the  city 
of  their  fathers,  but  the  Christians  remained  ;  and  the 
church  of  Jerusalem  at  this  time  elected  Marcus  the 
first  Gentile  bishop,  doubtless  from  a  willingness  to  show 
to  the  emperor  that  they  were  not  Jews,  though  such  had 
been  their  reputation. 

From  this  time,  for  a  hundred  and  fifty  years,  the 
Christian  church  remained  in  Jerusalem,  and  the  Chris¬ 
tian  religion  spread  over  the  world.  The  star  that  had 
risen  above  Bethlehem  had  drawn  the  eyes  of  all  the  world 
to  its  abundant  light  and  glory.  From  being  a  despised 
and  hated  sect,  watching  with  earnest  and  sad  devo¬ 
tion  the  sepulchre  that  had  once  entombed  their  Lord, 
and  from  which  in  their  persecutions  and  agonies  unnum¬ 
bered  they  could  sometimes  scarcely  believe  he  had  arisen 
to  be  in  heaven  their  God  and  hope,  they  became  the 


2  76 


ADRIAN’S  TEMPLE. 


teachers  of  kings  and  emperors,  the  very  light  of  the 
world.  From  that  Golgotha,  of  which  they  well  knew 
the  story,  and  whose  locality  it  seems  idle  to  suppose  in 
those  few  short  years  they  could  have  lost,  they  beheld  a 
light  spreading  over  the  world  that  was  reflected  from  the 
snowy  summits  of  Caucasus,  the  white  cliffs  of  Albion, 
and  the  far  mountains  of  Atlas. 

There  was  no  race  of  men  known  to  the  wise  of  Rome 
that  did  not  hear  the  story  of  the  Hazarene.  There  was 
no  name  by  which  men  called  themselves  that  was  not 
heard  in  the  streets  of  Jerusalem  within  a  space  of  time 
almost  too  brief  for  us  to  believe  sufficient  for  the  history 
of  Calvary  to  have  reached  Abyssinia  and  England ;  and 
at  length  the  mother  of  the  Emperor  of  Rome,  with  all 
the  gorgeous  attendance  and  pageantry  that  could  sur¬ 
round  the  royalty  of  Constantine  himself,  came  a  pilgrim 
to  the  places  which  Rome  had  never  before  visited,  ex¬ 
cept  as  the  scourge  of  an  avenging  God. 

It  seems  to  me  that  it  matters  very  little,  in  view  of 
this  brief  history,  whether  Adrian  did  or  did  not  mark 
the  supposed  site  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre  and  of  Calvary 
with  a  temple  of  Venus.  If  he  did,  then  there  is  of 
course  no  reason  to  doubt  that  the  locality  was  preserved 
perfectly ;  for  we  have  already  said  enough  to  show  that 
in  the  time  of  Adrian  it  could  not  have  been  mis-located. 
He  would  have  selected  the  right  place  beyond  a  perad- 
venture.  If  he  did  not,  it  is  by  no  means  credible  that 
Golgotha  or  its  adjacent  garden  was  forgotten  by  the 
church  of  Jerusalem.  Had  the  Saviour  remained  in  the 
grave,  his  followers  (for  they  did  not  then  appreciate  or 
expect  the  resurrection),  would  never  have  forgotten  that 
grave  ;  and  so  long  as  the  name  of  Christian  remained  in 
Jerusalem  the  spot,  though  deep  down  under  the  rubbish 
of  a  fallen  city,  though  rifled  of  its  sacred  contents,  and 
no  longer  containing  his  precious  dust,  would  have  been 


PRESERVATION  OF  HISTORY. 


2  77 


visited  with  tears  of  devotion.  Has  it  never  occurred  to 
men  that  there  were  children  of  Lazarus  to  hear  in  mem¬ 
ory  from  generation  to  generation  the  story  of  his  tomb  ; 
children  of  the  widow’s  son  of  Nain,  of  Martha  and 
Mary,  of  the  cleansed  leper,  of  the  blind  who  saw,  of 
the  hundreds  who  had  personal  and  family  reasons  for  re¬ 
membering  the  burial-place  of  a  great  benefactor  ?  The 
tomb  of  Joseph  at  Shechem,  of  the  patriarch  at  Hebron, 
of  Rachel,  close  to  the  wall  of  Jerusalem,  were  kept  in 
honored  remembrance.  How  much  more  likely  wTas  it 
that  for  a  few  years  the  memory  of  the  tomb  that  held  a 
greater  than  Solomon  for  two  nights,  and  then  gave  him 
forth  to  the  resurrection  of  all  the  dead,  should  be  pre¬ 
served. 

More  than  all  is  it  incredible  that  the  Christians  of 
Jerusalem  could  read  the  evangelists,  Matthew,  Mark, 
Luke,  and  John,  in  their  meetings  and  their  families 
daily  in  Jerusalem,  and  not  understand  perfectly  where 
each  little  incident  occurred,  and,  above  all,  where  the 
great  events  that  ended  the  mission  and  the  work  that 
Christ  finished.  It  is  on  this  very  account  that  Eusebius 
and  Jerome  do  not  speak  of  any  tradition  as  guiding  the 
search  made  by  order  of  Constantine.  There  was  no 
tradition  about  it.  The  places  were  so  well  known  that 
no  one  thought  of  calling  it  tradition  at  all. 

So  much  seems  to  me  certain,  without  resorting  to  what 
can  not  be  doubted,  the  idea  that  in  the  early  Christian 
times,  as  in  all  other  times,  there  were  a  thousand  papers, 
notes  of  journal-keeping  men,  family  manuscripts,  old  let¬ 
ters,  and  like  records  of  events  of  daily  occurrence,  to 
which,  had  it  been  necessary  to  seek  them,  those  desirous 
of  finding  the  sepulchre  would  have  had  abundant  access, 
and  which  on  the  other  hand  would  have  been  volumi¬ 
nous  evidence  against  the  selection  of  a  wrong  locality. 
These  were  not  such  papers  as  a  later  writer  would  refer 


278 


Adrian’s  temple. 


to,  except  as  Eusebius  does  in  the  phrase  eg  eyypacpuv,  but 
to  deny  their  existence,  is  asserting  a  remarkable  state  of 
society  and  affairs  in  Jerusalem,  where  it  can  hardly  be 
doubted  were  always  many  very  learned  men,  Jews  and 
Christians,  who  were  students,  scholars,  critics,  theolo¬ 
gians  and  historians. 

But  the  fact  remains  undisturbed  that  in  the  days  of 
Eusebius  the  site  of  the  sepulchre  was  marked  by  a 
heathen  temple,  placed  there  for  the  purpose  of  devoting 
the  place  to  heathen  religion,  if  thereby  the  faith  in  the 
arisen  Christ  might  be  shaken. 

This  simple  fact,  which  is  of  conclusive  force  in  the  argu¬ 
ment,  is  attacked  in  various  ways,  but  the  substance  of 
all  the  attacks  goes  only  to  the  question  of  evidence  of 
the  date  of  the  erection  of  this  temple.  No  one  disputes 
that  Helena  found  it  there.  The  date  of  its  erection,  by 
later  writers  unhesitatingly  attributed  to  Adrian,  is  of 
less  importance  than  the  fact  that  this  shows  us  that  the 
locality  was  in  no  respects  a  doubtful  one.  This  spot  was 
known  by  Pagan,  Jew,  and  Christian,  as  the  spot  where 
the  Christians’  great  founder  had  been  buried. 

In  the  face  of  this  fact  it  is  impossible  to  deny  that  the 
locality  must  have  been  one  often  spoken  of  in  the  pre¬ 
vious  years,  one  about  which  vast  interest  was  felt,  and 
that  the  early  Christians  did  think  of  and  cherish  such 
places. 

But  there  is  another  view  of  the  subject.  We  are 
fully  authorized,  in  a  case  like  this,  to  yield  our  belief  to  a 
fact  found  by  good  judges,  though  w~e  are  ignorant  of  the 
evidence. 

Is  it  probable,  or  possible,  that  men,  like  Eusebius  and 
Jerome,  would  lend  themselves  to  a  trumpery  plot,  such 
as  some  writers  have  attributed  to  the  bishop  of  Jerusa¬ 
lem,  to  get  up  an  interest  in  the  Holy  City,  and  increase 
the  importance  of  that  see  ?  The  very  notion  is  absurd, 


EUSEBIUS  AND  JEROME. 


2*79 


and  may  be  repelled  without  argument.  Attributing  such 
motives  betrays  either  a  want  of  appreciation  of  the  spirit 
of  the  age,  or  a  recklessness  of  statement  of  character. 

Could  they  have  been  themselves  deceived  ?  Let  us 
see  who  they  were. 

They  lived  in  no  dark  age.  The  fourth  century  was 
long  before  the  gloom  of  the  dark  ages.  It  was  a  time 
of  religious  and  classical  learning  unsurpassed  in  the  his¬ 
tory  of  the  church.  It  was  the  age  when  Christianity, 
from  being  a  despised  creed,  had  become  the  religion  of 
Rome  and  the  world.  An  eminently  light  and  brilliant  age. 

Dr.  Robinson’s  judgment  of  Eusebius  and  Jerome  is 
sufficiently  satisfactory  :  “  The  one  a  leading  bishop  and 
historian,  the  other  a  scholar  and  translator  of  the  Scrip¬ 
tures.”  And  (speaking  of  their  judgment  concerning 
Emmaus)  he  says,  “  This  was  not  the  voice  of  mere  tradi¬ 
tion  ;  but  the  well-considered  judgment  of  men  of  learn¬ 
ing  and  critical  skill,  resident  in  the  country,  acquainted 
with  the  places  in  question,  and  occupied  in  investigating 
and  describing  the  Scripture  topography  of  the  Holy 
Land.”* 

It  is  worthy  of  consideration  whether  the  judgment  of 
such  men  at  the  time  they  lived,  is  not  worth  more  than 
all  our  theories  at  this  remote  day.  It  is  quite  idle  for 
us  to  attempt  to  prove  that  they  were  mistaken.  When 
the  walls  and  ruins  of  the  Jerusalem  of  Christ’s  day  were 
lying  around  them,  is  it  reasonable  to  suppose  that  they 
would  select  a  place  within  the  walls  of  the  city  as  the 
locality  of  an  event  that  occurred  without  the  gates,  and 
stultify  themselves  in  the  eyes  of  hundreds  of  thousands 
of  Jews,  pagans,  and  infidels,  who  would  have  laughed  at 
them  with  sharp  glee  ? 

And  it  is  very  certain  that  in  the  fourth  century,  howT- 
ever  difficult  it  might  have  been  to  establish  the  fact 
*  Biblical  Researches,  vol.  iii.,  edition  of  1856,  p.  148. 


280 


CONCLUSIONS. 


that  this  was  the  location,  it  would  not  have  been  at  all 
difficult  to  prove  that  it  was  not,  if  the  arguments  now 
in  use  are  valid.  There  would  have  been  no  difficulty  at 
that  time  in  proving  that  the  spot  lay  within  the  line  of 
the  second  wall,  whose  ruins  themselves  would  remain  to 
show  it,  while  the  walls  and  towers  of  Zion  which  Titus 
preserved  would  have  afforded  abundant  evidence  of  its 
starting-point. 

These  points,  then,  appear  to  me  sufficient  evidence  on 
which  to  rest  my  faith  in  the  authenticity  of  the  Holy 
Sepulchre : 

1.  It  is  not  credible  that  this  locality  was  forgotten  by 
Christians  within  three  hundred  years  after  the  great 
events  of  the  crucifixion,  burial,  and  resurrection. 

2.  Critical  scholars  and  learned  men,  employed  in  in¬ 
vestigating  the  topography  of  the  Holy  Land,  had  no 
doubt  of  its  authenticity  in  the  beginning  of  the  fourth 
century. 

3.  No  one,  so  far  as  we  know,  thought  in  that  age  of 
disputing  the  fact,  but  all  men  acknowledged  its  truth. 

4.  It  is  not  doubted  by  any  one  that  this  is  the  locality 
in  which  those  learned  men  placed  their  confidence,  it 
having  been  well  preserved  from  that  time  to  this. 

This  is,  I  say,  sufficient,  without  those  additional  con¬ 
siderations  which  I  shall  hereafter  present. 

But  of  course  these  grounds  of  faith  may  be  under¬ 
mined.  It  is  not  pretended  that  they  sustain  a  certainty. 
He  who  would  overcome  the  argument,  may  do  it  in 
two  ways : 

1.  By  proving  that  this  is  not  the  locality,  from  some 
evidence  therewith  connected. 

2.  By  proving  that  some  other  place  is  the  locality,  and 
thereby  establishing  a  sort  of  alibi. 

The  second  proposition  it  will  not  be  necessary  to  con¬ 
sider,  since  no  one  can  maintain  it. 


DR.  ROBINSON’S  ARGUMENTS.  281 

The  first  is  held  by  many  persons,  of  late  years,  with 
what  success  I  now  propose  to  examine. 

Dr.  Robinson,  in  his  Biblical  Researches,  published  in 
1841,  and  republished  with  extensive  additions  in  1856, 
has  taken  the  position,  to  which  his  learning  and  ability 
fully  entitle  him,  of  the  leader  in  maintaining  the  propo¬ 
sition  that  the  Holy  Sepulchre  is  not  on  the  locality  of  the 
sepulchre  occupied  by  Christ,  and  in  his  elaborate  works 
we  shall  find  all  that  can  possibly  be  said  to  this  effect. 

In  proceeding  then  to  notice,  and  if  I  may  be  able,  to 
expose  the  errors  of  his  reasoning  and  the  mistakes  of  his 
observations,  I  desire  first  to  express  my  own  obligation, 
in  common  with  that  of  all  travelers  to  Holy  Land,  for 
his  jirofound  and  invaluable  volumes.  They  are  the  only 
extant  guide-book  in  Syria,  excepting  the  Bible,  and  he 
has  brought  to  their  preparation  an  amount  of  erudition 
and  scholarship  which  no  one  hereafter  can  hope  to  ex¬ 
cel.  Away  from  Jerusalem,  and  its  immediate  neighbor¬ 
hood,  in  all  parts  of  Syria,  the  traveler  may,  with  one  or 
two  small  exceptions,  place  implicit  confidence  in  the  re¬ 
sults  of  his  reasoning. 

But  I  have  already  stated  that  I  saw  reason  to  differ 
from  his  views  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre  after  personal  ex¬ 
amination,  and  as  the  arguments  on  the  question  are 
chiefly  topographical,  I  felt  no  diffidence  in  so  doing,  since 
one  pair  of  eyes  is  quite  as  likely  to  see  well  as  another. 

Dr.  Robinson’s  line  of  argument  is  twofold.  He  con¬ 
tends  that  there  is  no  evidence  of  any  tradition  at  the 
time  of  Eusebius  locating  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  an  argu¬ 
ment  which  is  quite  conclusively  disposed  of  by  the  ad¬ 
mission  of  the  fact,  that  there  was  no  tradition  about  a 
spot  which  every  one  knew ;  and  he  attacks  with  great 
spirit  all  attempts  to  show  that  Eusebius  and  Macarius 
had  any  evidence  of  the  locality  whatever. 

But  his  main  argument,  and  one  which,  if  oorrect,  is 


282 


AN  ERRONEOUS  ARGUMENT. 


conclusive,  is  founded  on  an  attempt  to  show,  by  the  to¬ 
pography  of  Jerusalem,  that  the  present  locality  of  the 
Holy  Sepulchre  actually  lies  within  the  walls  of  the  an¬ 
cient  Jerusalem,  as  existing  at  that  time,  and  therefore 
can  not  by  any  possibility  be  near  the  place  where  Christ 
was  crucified,  “  without  the  gates.” 

Before  passing  to  this  second  and  more  important  por¬ 
tion  of  the  doctor’s  theory,  I  refer  briefly  to  a  weak  and 
inconclusive  style  of  argument  which  is  a  favorite  with 
him,  and  which  he  derives  from  the  familiar  law  maxim, 
“Falsus  in  uno,  falsus  in  omnibus.”  But  this  proverb, 
which  is  very  true  in  the  use  of  the  word  false ,  has  no 
force  or  truth  when  we  substitute  mistaken  or  erroneous. 
Thus  he  argues  that  Jerome  was  wrong  in  stating  that  an 
idol  had  stood  on  the  site  of  the  Sepulchre  from  the  time 
of  Adrian,  and  arrives  at  a  conclusion  in  this  way.  He 
says  :  “  Eusebius  and  the  other  historians  speak  only  of 
a  temple  of  Venus  over  the  Sepulchre.  Jerome,  on  the 
other  hand,  places  the  marble  statue  of  Venus  on  the 
‘Rock  of  the  Cross,’  or  Golgotha,  and  an  image  of  Jupi¬ 
ter  on  the  place  of  the  Resurrection.  Here  the  Latin 
father  is  probably  wrong,  for  Eusebius  was  an  eye  wit¬ 
ness  ;  and  the  former  is  therefore  equally  liable  to  have 
been  wrong  in  ascribing  these  idols  to  Adrian  /”  a  con¬ 
clusion  of  which  it  is  somewhat  difficult  to  appreciate  the 
sequitur. 

I  hardly  need  remind  the  reader  that  these  are  “  the 
men  of  learning  and  critical  skill,  resident  in  the  coun¬ 
try,”  before  spoken  of. 

By  a  similar  error  of  reasoning,  the  learned  doctor  over¬ 
throws,  to  his  own  satisfaction,  the  value  of  a  tradition  in 
favor  of  the  Sepulchre,  supposing  one  to  exist.  For  its 
value,  he  says,  “  we  have  a  decisive  test ;  in  applying 
the  same  reasoning  to  another  tradition  of  precisely  the 
same  character  and  import.”  And  he  then  proceeds  to 


DR.  ROBINSON’S  ARGUMENT. 


283 


show  that  the  tradition  of  the  place  of  the  Ascension  on 
the  Mount  of  Olives  could  not  be  true.  My  remarks  on 
that  point  will  enable  the  reader  to  judge  how  satisfactory 
his  conclusions  are.  He  then  goes  on  to  overthrow  the 
tradition  concerning  the  Grotto  of  the  Nativity  at  Beth¬ 
lehem  (of  which  part  of  his  argument  I  have  spoken  at 
Bethlehem).  Then,  supposing  it  established  that  both 
these  traditions  can  have  no  foundation  in  truth,  he 
argues,  that  “  on  this  ground,  as  well  as  on  all  others, 
the  alleged  site  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre  is  found  to  be 
without  support.”* 

Certainly,  as  a  mere  matter  of  reasoning,  nothing  can 
be  plainer  than  that  if  all  the  Holy  Places,  with  one  ex¬ 
ception,  were  proved  to  be  wrongly  located,  this  would 
have  no  value  in  an  argument  concerning  this  one. 

I  pass  directly  to  the  topographical  argument  of  Dr. 
Robinson,  which  is  mostly  contained  in  the  following  ex¬ 
tracts. 

The  first  of  these  extracts  (Biblical  Researches,  vol.  i., 
p.  461,  etc.)  is  as  follows : 

“  Josephus’  description  of  the  second  wall  is  very  short 
and  unsatisfactory.  It  began  at  the  gate  called  Gennath 
in  the  first  wall,  and  encircling  only  the  tract  lying  north, 
extended  to  Antonia.  This  gate  called  Gennath  in  the 
first  wall,  doubtless  was  near  the  tower  of  Hippicus,  and 
was  probably  not  included  within  the  second  wall,  in  or¬ 
der  to  allow  a  direct  passage  between  the  upper  city  and 
the  country.  The  two  extremities  of  this  wall  are  there¬ 
fore  given,  but  its  course  between  these  points  is  a  matter 
of  some  difficulty  to  determine. 

“Did  this  wall  perhaps  run  from  its  beginning,  near 
the  tower  of  Hippicus,  on  a  straight  course  to  the 
fortress  Antonia?  This  question  I  feel  compelled  to  an¬ 
swer  in  the  negative  for  several  reasons.  First,  the  ex- 
*  Biblical  Researches,  vol.  ii.,  p.  7G,  etc. 


284 


dr.  robinson’s  argument. 


press  language  of  Josephus,  that  it  took  a  circular  course ; 
secondly,  the  Pool  of  Hezekiah,  which  is  of  high  anti¬ 
quity,  and  lay  within  the  ancient  city,  must  then  have 
been  excluded ;  thirdly,  the  whole  space  included  in  the 
lower  city  would  in  this  way  have  been  reduced  to  a 
small  triangle  of  about  GOO  yards  on  the  south  side,  and 
some  400  yards  on  the  east  side  ;  and  lastly,  this  wall 
built  for  the  defence  of  this  part  of  the  city,  would  thus 
have  passed  obliquely  across  the  very  point  *of  the  hill 
Akra,  and  have  been  overlooked  and  commanded  on  the 
west  by  every  other  part  of  the  hill.” 

The  second  extract  (Biblical  Researches,  vol.  ii.,  p.  67, 
etc.)  is  as  follows : 

u  But  as  the  third  or  exterior  wall  of  that  writer  (Jose¬ 
phus)  was  not  erected  until  ten  or  twelve  years  after  the 
death  of  Christ,  it  can  not  here  be  taken  into  account ; 
and  the  question  still  arises,  whether  the  present  site  of 
the  Sepulchre  may  not  have  fallen  without  the  second  or 
interior  wall ;  in  which  case  all  the  conditions  of  the  gen¬ 
eral  question  would  be  satisfied. 

“This  second  wall,  as  we  have  seen,  began  at  the  gate 
of  Gennath,  near  the  tower  of  Hippicus,  and  ran  to  the 
fortress  Antonia,  on  the  north  of  the  temple.  Of  the 
date  of  its  erection  we  are  nowhere  informed ;  but  it 
must  probably  have  been  older  than  the  time  of  Heze¬ 
kiah,  who  built  within  the  city  a  pool,  apparently  the 
same  which  now  exists  under  his  name.  We  have  then 
three  points  for  determining  the  probable  course  of  this 
wall;  besides  the  general  language  of  Josephus  and  the 
nature  of  the  ground.  We  repaired  personally  to  each 
of  these  three  points,  in  order  to  examine  there  this  very 
question;  and  the  first  measurement  I  took  in  Jerusalem 
was  the  distance  from  the  western  side  of  the  area  of  the 
temple,  or  great  mosk,  to  the  Church  of  the  Holy  Sepul¬ 
chre.  I  measured  from  the  western  entrance  of  that  area 


DR.  ROBINSON’S  ARGUMENT. 


285 


oil  a  direct  course  along  the  street  by  the  Hospital  of 
Helena,  to  the  street  leading  north  from  the  bazaar ;  and 
then  from  this  street  to  a  point  in  front  of  the  great  en¬ 
trance  of  the  church.  The  whole  distance  proved  to  be 
1,223  feet,  or  about  407  yards;  which  is  33  yards  less 
than  a  quarter  of  an  English  mile. 

“  On  viewing  the  city  from  the  remains  of  the  ancient 
Hippicus,  as  well  as  from  the  site  of  Antonia,  we  were 
satisfied,  that  if  the  second  wall  might  be  supposed  to 
have  run  in  a  straight  line  beween  those  points,  it  would 
have  left  the  Church  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre  without  the 
city ;  and  thus  far  have  settled  the  topographical  part  of 
the  question.  But  it  was  not  less  easy  to  perceive,  that 
in  thus  running  in  a  straight  course,  the  wall  must  also 
have  left  the  Pool  of  Hezekiah  on  the  outside ;  or  if  it 
made  a  curve  sufficient  to  include  this  pool,  it  would  na¬ 
turally  also  have  included  the  site  of  the  Sepulchre,  unless 
it  made  an  angle  expressly  in  order  to  exclude  the  latter 
spot.  And  further,  as  Ave  have  seen,  Josephus  distinctly 
testifies  that  the  second  wall  ran  in  a  circle  or  curve,  ob¬ 
viously  toward  the  north.  Various  other  circumstances, 
also,  which  go  to  support  the  same  view,  such  as  the  na¬ 
ture  of  the  ground  and  the  ancient  toAvers  at  the  Damas¬ 
cus  gate,  have  already  been  enumerated.  Adjacent  to 
the  Avail  on  the  north  there  Avas  a  space  of  level  ground, 
on  which  Antiochus  could  erect  his  hundred  toAvers.  All 
this  goes  to  shoAV  that  the  second  Avail  must  have  ex¬ 
tended  further  to  the  north  than  the  site  of  the  present 
church. 

“  Or,  again,  if  avc  admit  that  this  Avail  ran  in  a  straight 
course,  then  the  whole  of  the  loAver  city  must  have  been 
confined  to  a  small  triangle ;  and  its  breadth,  betAveen 
the  temple  and  the  site  of  the  sepulchre,  a  space  of  less 
than  a  quarter  of  an  English  mile,  was  not  equal  to  that 
of  many  squares  in  London  and  ~New  York.  Yet  Ave 


286 


dr.  robinson’s  argument. 

know  that  this  lower  city,  at  the  time  of  the  crucifixion, 
was  extensive  and  populous ;  three  gates  led  from  it  to 
the  temple  ;  and,  ten  years  later,  Agrippa  erected  the 
third  wall  far  beyond  the  limits  of  the  present  city,  in 
order  to  shelter  the  extensive  suburbs  which  before  were 
unprotected.  These  suburbs  could  not  well  have  arisen 
within  the  short  interval  of  ten  years,  but  must  already 
have  existed  before  the  time  of  our  Lord’s  crucifixion. 

“After  examining  all  these  circumstances  repeatedly 
upon  the  spot,  and,  as  I  hope,  without  prejudice,  the 
minds  of  both  my  companion  and  myself  were  forced  to 
the  conviction,  that  the  hypothesis  which  makes  the 
second  wall  so  run  as  to  exclude  the  alleged  site  of  the 
Holy  Sepulchre,  is,  on  topographical  grounds,  untenable 
and  impossible.  If  there  was  prejudice  upon  my  own 
mind,  it  was  certainly  in  favor  of  an  opposite  result ;  for  I 
went  to  Jerusalem  strongly  prepossessed  with  the  idea 
that  the  alleged  site  might  have  lain  without  the  second 
wall. 

“  But,  even  if  such  a  view  could  be  admitted,  the  exist¬ 
ence  of  populous  suburbs  on  this  part  is  strongly  at 
variance  with  the  probability  that  here  should  have  been 
a  place  of  execution,  with  a  garden  and  sepulchre.  The 
tombs  of  the  ancients  were  not  usually  within  their  cities, 
nor  among  their  habitations,  and,  excepting  those  of  the 
kings  on  Zion,  there  is  no  evidence  that  sepulchres  ex¬ 
isted  in  Jerusalem.” 

From  these  extracts  the  reader  will  perceive  that  the 
topographical  argument  of  Dr.  Robinson  depends  on  the 
situation  of  the  gate  Gennath,  and  the  direction  of  the 
second  wall  of  Jerusalem.  In  the  time  of  Josephus  there 
were  three  walls  ;  the  first  being  the  old  wall,  inclosing 
only  Zion  proper,  and  Moriah. 

u  The  second  wall  had  its  beginning  from  the  gate 
which  was  called  Gennath,  being  of  the  first  wall,  and, 


■ I 


THE  SEC  OND  WALL. 


28V 


surrounding  the  northern  slope  only,  reached  unto  An¬ 
tonia.”  (Jos.,  B.  J.  5,  4,  2.) 

The  third  wall  began  at  the  tower  Hippicus,  and  ex¬ 
tended  quite  around  the  northern  part  of  the  city,  includ¬ 
ing  a  large  space ;  but,  as  this  was  built  by  Agrippa  after 
Christ’s  death,  it  is  of  no  importance  in  the  argument. 

All  parties  are  agreed  upon  certain  points  in  the  topo¬ 
graphy  of  Jerusalem,  among  which  the  location  of  the 
tower  Hippicus  is  one.  This  was  on  the  north  wall  of 
Zion,  and  is  doubtless  marked  very  nearly  by  the  modern 
castle  of  David.  The  position  of  the  tower  Antonia  is 
also  in  general  agreed  upon.  It  occupied  the  northern 
part  of  the  temple  area,  which  must  have  been  nearly 
identical  with  the  present  area  of  the  great  mosk. 

The  second  wall,  therefore,  ran  from  a  point  in  the 
north  wall  of  Zion,  to  a  point  in  the  north  wall  of  the 
temple  area.  Did  it  include,  or  did  it  exclude,  the  pres¬ 
ent  site  of  the  Sepulchre  ?  The  reader  will  have  no  diffi¬ 
culty  in  fixing  these  points  perfectly  in  his  mind,  by 
referring  to  the  bird’s-eye  view  of  Jerusalem  in  this 
volume.  The  high  minaret  in  the  north-west  corner  of 
the  mosk  area  marks  the  site  of  Antonia,  and  the  citadel, 
with  a  flag  over  it,  is  the  tower  Hippicus. 

The  reader  will  have  already  perceived,  from  the  re¬ 
marks  of  Dr.  Robinson,  that  the  difference  in  the  line  in 
the  two  cases  would  be  little,  if  any,  more  than  the  length 
of  the  Church  of  the  Resurrection,  say  four  hundred  feet. 
But  Dr.  Robinson,  with  singular  illiberality,  confines  us 
to  one  of  two  lines,  either  his  line  including  the  Sepulchre, 
or  a  straight  line  from  point  to  point.  It  would  be  sup¬ 
posed  that  no  possible  other  line  could  be  devised.  But 
I  have  yet  to  see  the  writer  on  this  subject  who  has 
contended  for  a  straight  line  wall,  or  supposed  it  neces¬ 
sary. 

The  great  difference  between  Dr.  Robinson  and  the 


288 


THE  POOL  OF  HEZEKIAH. 

believers  in  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  consists  in  the  location 
of  the  gate  Gennath,  and  the  commencement  of  the 
second  wall.  If  it  be  three  hundred  feet  eastward  of  the 
point  at  which  he  locates  it,  then  no  one  can  doubt  that 
the  Sepulchre  was  excluded ;  and  this  is,  in  effect,  the 
point  of  the  whole  argument. 

But  in  the  first  place,  let  us  for  the  moment  admit  Dr. 
Robinson’s  location  of  the  gate  Gennath,  and  see  if  his 
reasonings  from  it  are  correct,  and  whether  there  is  any 
thing  in  that  location,  or  elsewhere,  which  requires  that  a 
wall  commencing  there  and  running  in  a  curve  to  the 
north  side  of  the  temple  should  include  the  present  site 
of  the  Sepulchre. 

It  will  be  perceived  that  his  argument  in  regard  to  the 
direction  of  the  second  wall  is,  that  if  it  ran  so  as  to  ex¬ 
clude  the  site  of  the  Church  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  it 
must  also  have  excluded  the  Pool  of  Ilezekiah,  “  which,” 
he  says,  “  is  of  high  antiquity,  and  lay  within  the  ancient 
city.”  In  fact,  this  is  the  whole  of  his  argument. 

For  the  evidence  that  this  pool  was  within  the  ancient 
city,  we  look  elsewhere  in  his  work  and  find  it  as  fol- 
lows : 

“We  are  told  of  King  Hezekiah  that  che  made  a  pool 
and  a  conduit  and  brought  water  into  the  city,’  and  also 
that  ‘he  stopped  the  upper  water-course  of  Gihon  and 
brought  it  straight  down  to  the  west  side  of  the  city 
of  David.’  From  this  language  we  can  only  infer  that 
Hezekiah  constructed  a  pool  within  the  city  on  its  west¬ 
ern  part.”* 

This  is  Dr.  Robinson’s  entire  argument  to  show  that 
the  Pool  of  Hezekiah  was  within  the  city  walls,  a  con¬ 
clusion  by  no  means  justified  by  the  words  of  the  Scrip¬ 
ture  account.  But  who  can  fail  to  be  astonished  at  the 
next  sentence  of  Dr.  Robinson’s  remarks  ?  “  To  such  a 

*  Biblical  Researches,  vol.  i.  p.  488. 


V- 


THE  POOL  OF  HEZEKIAH.  289 

pool  the  present  reservoir,  which  is  doubtless  an  ancient 
work,  entirely  corresponds,”  when  I  remind  the  reader 
that  the  present  reservoir  is  situated  on  the  slope  of 
what  Dr.  Kobinson  believes  to  be  the  AJcra  of  Josephus, 
due  north  of  the  “  city  of  David,”  and  far  north  of  any 
point  in  it,  where  no  possible  form  of  imagination  could 
locate  it  as  on,  near,  or  related  to  the  west  side  of  the  city 
of  David,  and  where  it  must  have  been  separated  from 
that  part  of  the  city  by  the  deep  valley  which  Dr.  Robinson 
calls  the  Tyropoeon,  and  which  was  under  the  precipice 
on  the  north  side  of  Zion. 

In  fact,  no  language  can  be  used  which  would  define 
this  reservoir,  or  its  locality,  by  any  reference  to  the  west 
side  of  Zion.  It  is  hardly  necessary  for  me  to  remind  the 
reader  that  the  “  city  of  David”  always  means  the  citadel 
city,  or  Mount  Zion,  as  distinct  from  the  rest  of  Jerusa¬ 
lem,  and  it  is  a  matter  of  astonishment  to  me  that  Dr. 
Robinson  should  not  have  remembered  that  his  very  ar¬ 
gument,  which  located  the  second  wall  outside  of  this 
pool,  necessarily  proves  that  the  pool  was  north  and  east 
of  the  north-west  corner  of  the  city  of  David,  which  was 
the  tower  of  Hippicus. 

But  I  am  unable  to  see  any  necessity  for  locating  any 
pool  made  by  Hezekiah  within  the  city.  The  passage  in 
the  second  of  Kings,  xx.  20,  which  states  that  he  brought 
water  into  the  city  (or  waters,  as  I  suspect  the  original 
has  it,  for  although  I  have  totally  forgotten  what  little 
Hebrew  I  once  knew,  I  find  that  the  Latin  translations 
have  the  word  aquas),  has  not  necessarily  any  connection 
with  that  in  second  Chronicles  xxxii.  30,  where  it  is  stated 
that  he  “  stopped  the  upper  water-course  of  Gihon  and 
brought  it  straight  down  to  the  west  side  of  the  city  of 
David.”  This  latter  passage  is  much  more  likely  to  refer 
to  the  lower  pool  of  Gihon,  which  is  on  the  west  side  of  the 
city  of  David,  and  which  may  have  been  improved  and  in- 

10 

O 


290 


THE  POOL  OF  HEZEKI  A  H. 


* 


creased  by  straightening  the  water  flow,  which  was  crook¬ 
ed,  or  possibly  swampy,  and  by  stopping  up  and  gathering 
in  a  reservoir  the  springs  at  the  upper  Pool  of  Gihon, 
which  formerly  flowed  across  to  the  valley  of  Jehoshaphat. 

Especially  does  this  seem  likely  when  taken  in  connec¬ 
tion  with  a  passage  in  Isaiah  xxii.  9,  referring  to  the  lower 
pool,  and  recited,  if  not  addressed,  to  Hezekiah.  “Ye 
have  seen  also  the  breaches  of  the  city  of  David,  that 
they  are  many,  and  ye  gathered  together  the  waters  of 
the  lower  pool;”  and  the  11th  verse,  “Ye  made  also  a 
ditch  between  the  two  walls  for  the  water  of  the  old 
pool,  but  ye  have  not  looked  unto  the  maker  thereof, 
neither  had  respect  unto  him  that  fashioned  it  long  ago 
the  first  verse  quoted  manifestly  implying  that  Hezekiah 
constructed,  or  improved  the  lower  pool,  and  the  second 
that  he  made  another  aqueduct,  or  repaired  an  ancient 
one,  not  connected  with  either  pool,  but  between  the  two 
walls ;  an  expression  referring,  doubtless,  to  the  valley  of 
the  Tyropceon  between  the  east  wall  of  Zion  and  the 
west  wall  of  Moriah,  and  probably  to  the  pool  which  is 
referred  to  in  Xehemiah,  iii.  16,  which  was  the  limit  to 
which  Xehemiah  worked  in  repairing  the  wall  after 
Shallum,  who,  in  the  previous  verse,  is  said  to  have  re- 
paired  by  the  Pool  of  Siloah,  and  unto  “  the  stairs  that 
go  down  from  the  city  of  David.”  After  him  Xehemiah 
repaired  “  unto  over  against  the  sepulchre  of  David  and 
to  the  pool  that  was  made.”  This  must  imply  that  Xehe¬ 
miah  repaired  the  wall  on  the  west  side  of  Moriah,  opposite 
the  east  side  of  Zion,  and  that  the  pool  was  between 
the  two. 

It  is  probable,  therefore,  that  Hezekiah  constructed 
other  aqueducts  than  the  one  on  the  west  side  of  the  city 
of  David,  and  this  is  made  perfectly  certain  by  the  passage 
in  Ben  Sirach,  xlviii.  17,  where  it  is  stated  that  “  Hezekiah 
made  his  city  strong,  and  conveyed  water  into  the  midst 


THE  POOL  OF  HEZEKIAH, 


291 


thereof ;  he  digged  through  the  rock  with  iron,  and  made 
fountains  for  waters.” 

It  appears,  therefore,  quite  clear  that  there  is  no 
scriptural  evidence  of  the  antiquity  of  the  Birket-el- 
Hamman,  or  Pool  of  Hezekiah,  and  there  is  certainly 
nothing  in  Josephus  or  the  early  Christian  writers  which 
will  make  it  necessary  for  us  to  regard  it  as  of  their  date. 
On  the  contrary,  the  only  mention  of  a  pool  in  this 
direction,  by  Josephus,  appears  to  intimate  the  existence 
of  a  pool  or  other  supply  of  water  outside  the  walls,  near 
this  spot,  for  he  speaks  of  a  pool,  Amygdalon,  here¬ 
abouts,  not  locating  it,  and  of  a  gate  in  the  wall  of  the 
upper  city,  Zion,  which  was  used  to  bring  in  water  to 
the  tower  of  Hippicus.  This  gate  Dr.  Robinson  sup¬ 
poses  to  be  identical  with  the  gate  Gennath ,  which  was 
the  point  of  commencement  of  the  second  wall,  though 
he  locates  the  pool  Amygdalon  within  that  second  wall, 
of  course  without  proof  of  each  location.  It  seems  more 
likely  that  the  gate  opened  to  this  pool,  as  the  nearest 
reservoir  to  the  towers,  and  if  the  gate  were  identical 
with  Gennath,  then,  doubtless,  the  pool  was  outside 
the  second  wall.  The  result  of  this  argument,  thus  far,  is 
only  to  overthrow  the  idea  of  Dr.  Robinson  that  the 
Birket-el-IIamman,  or  Pool  of  Hezekiah,  was  necessarily 
within  the  ancient  walls.  It  may  have  been  or  it  may 
not  have  been.  Enough  that  the  chief,  I  might  well 
say  the  only,  argument,  showing  the  line  of  the  second 
wall  to  be  outside  the  locality  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre  is 
thus  disposed  of  as  without  weight. 

It  will  be  observed  that  Dr.  Robinson  is  very  strenu¬ 
ous  in  maintaining  the  necessity  of  a  circular  line  in  the 
second  wall,  based  on  Josephus’s  use  of  the  word  kvkXov- 
fievov ,  which  he  translates  “  encircling.”  This  is  perhaps 
of  little  importance,  since  it,  in  fact,  no  more  implies  a 
circular  line  than  does  the  word  surrounding  in  English. 


292 


THE  GATE  GENNATH. 


Each  has  a  common  meaning  applicable  to  a  circle, 
square,  parallelogram,  or  an  irregular,  figure.  A  curved 
line  it  probably  was,  but,  like  all  city  walls,  it  was  likely 
to  have  frequent  breaks  and  angles.  The  exact  phrase 
used  by  Josephus  may  help  us  materially  :  “  uvuXovpevov 
6e  to  npooaptcriov  nXipa”  which  Dr.  Robinson  translates 
“  encircling  only  the  tract  on  the  north.” 

The  word  tiXipa  literally  and  usually  signifies  slope, 
being  derived  from  kX'lvg),  meaning  to  bend,  or,  to  use 
our  word  derived  from  it,  to  incline. 

Now  let  the  reader  bear  in  mind  my  description  of  the 
hill  Akra — or  rather  the  description  of  Josephus,  which 
made  it  a  theatre,  surrounding  the  basin  at  the  north¬ 
west  corner  of  the  temple  area,  and  sloping  down  to  this 
on  all  sides.  He  will  then  perceive  that  the  idea  of  this 
wall  encircling  the  slope  to  the  north  of  Zion,  or  the  en¬ 
tire  slope  of  Akra,  distinctly  defines  the  wall,  as  well  as 
materially  confirms  my  idea  of  the  shape  of  Akra. 

We  have  thus  far  argued  on  the  admission  of  Dr. 
Robinson’s  location  of  the  gate  Gennath.  We  now 
proceed  to  show  that  he  is  in  error  in  that  location. 
Dr.  Robinson  says :  “  It  must  have  been  on  the  east  of 
Hippicus,  for  the  third  wall  began  at  that  tower.  It 
could  not  however  have  been  far  distant,  because  that 
part  of  Zion  was  then  high  and  steep.” 

The  only  point  to  be  settled  is,  therefore,  how  near  to 
Hippicus  it  was,  and  this  is,  as  I  have  said,  all  the  differ¬ 
ence  between  Dr.  Robinson  and  the  believers  in  the 
Holy  Sepulchre.  He  locates  it  very  near  to  Hippicus, 
they  at  various  distances  eastward. 

Reason  on  this  as  we  will,  there  can  be  no  certainty 
arrived  at  with  our  present  knowledge:  we  can,  at  best, 
reach  probabilities.  First  of  all,  if  the  location  of  the 
gate  to  the  eastward  of  Hippicus,  some  three  or  five 
hundred  feet,  be  necessary  to  the  exclusion  of  the  Church 


NORTH  WALL  OF  ZION. 


293 


of  the  Sepulchre,  there  is  evidence  that  it  must  have 
been  so  (and  this  is  no  petitio  principii )  in  the  prob¬ 
ability  that  the  time  of  Constantine  afforded  much  better 
proofs  of  the  line  of  the  walls  than  we  can  ever  expect  to 
arrive  at. 

On  this  point  none  of  the  early  writers  appear  to  have 
thought  it  necessary  to  remark,  doubtless  from  a  con¬ 
viction  that  no  one  could  imagine  Eusebius  and  Maca¬ 
rius,  Helena  and  her  illustrious  advisers,  so  very  ignorant 
as  to  select  a  spot  within  the  ancient  wall  of  the  city, 
whose  ruins,  if  not  its  actual  stones  in  their  places,  must 
then  have  been  very  manifest. 

The  first  and  only  early  writer  that  I  find  speaking  of  it 
is  Saint  Willibald,  the  English  pilgrim,  in  the  eighth  cen¬ 
tury  (a.d.  765),  who  says  that  this  church  was  formerly 
outside  the  city,  but  was  brought  into  it  by  Helena. 
“  Et  hsec  fuit  prius  extra  Hierusalem.  Sed  beata  Helena, 
quando  invenit,  collocavit  ilium  locum  intus  intra  Hieru¬ 
salem.”* 

It  is  quite  evident  that  the  scoffers  of  the  early  ages 
never  discovered  what  it  is  now  attempted  to  prove, 
though  if  true  it  must  have  been  very  plain  then.  But 
passing  that,  let  us  see  what  other  evidence  we  have. 

Josephus  tells  us  that  the  north  wall  of  Zion  -was  pre¬ 
cipitous.  We  have  already  spoken  of  the  valley  of  the 
Tyropoeon  as  lying  between  it  and  Akra.  This  valley  I 
suppose  was  deep  and  narrow.  The  sides  were  perhaps 
precipitous  rocks.  Josephus  describes  the  rows  of  houses 
on  both  hills  as  ending  at  the  valley’s  edge. 

But  the  ravine  of  the  valley  must  not  be  mistaken  as 
that  of  a  stream.  The  valley  of  the  Kedron  implies  the 
valley  through  which  that  stream  runs,  sloping  one  way 
always.  But  the  valley  of  the  Cheesemakers  was  one 
which  opened  on  the  one  side  (the  west),  to  the  valley  of 

*  S.  Willibaldi,  Hod.,  sec.  viii. 


294 


TOWERS  OF  ZION. 


Gihon,  or  Ben  Hinnora,  and  on  the  other  (the  east),  to  a 
large  basin  in  the  heart  of  the  city,  and  thence  down  to¬ 
ward  Siloam.  It  can  hardly  be  otherwise,  therefore,  than 
that  this  valley  or  ravine  sloped  both  ways.  It  is  not 
probable  that  its  water  shed  was  all  to  the  eastward  from 
the  very  brow  of  the  valley  of  Ben  Hinnom.  On  the  con¬ 
trary,  that  it  was  deep  there  is  evident  from  the  descrip¬ 
tion  of  the  tower  Hippicus,  and  the  adjacent  towers,  all 
which  were  on  a  high  hill. 

The  tower  Hippicus  stood  on  the  north-west  brow  of 
Zion,  overlooking  the  valley  Ben  Hinnom  as  to  its  west 
side,  and  the  Tyropceon  valley  as  to  its  north  side.  Two 
other  towers  stood  near  it,  known  as  Phasaelus  and 
Mariamne,  names  which  Herod  gave  to  them.  These 
were  all  in  the  north  wall  of  Zion,  and  were  all  built  on  a 
hi  oji  hill;  such  is  the  express  statement  of  Josephus. 
(B.  J.  v.  4.) 

Hippicus  was  twenty-five  cubits  broad,  Phasaelus  forty, 
and  Mariamne  twenty.  As  they  did  not  join  each  other, 
but  were  separate  and  distinct  towers,  although  near  each 
other,  it  is  fair  to  estimate  a  distance  between  them  equal 
to  their  several  sizes,  which  gives  us  a  hundred  and  sev¬ 
enty  cubits  of  the  north  wall  of  Zion  as  on  a  high  hill. 
This  distance,  therefore,  I  feel  wrell  assured,  the  slope  of 
the  Tyropceon  was  toward  the  westward ;  and  somewhere 
to  the  eastward  of  this  point  must  have  been  the  gate 
Gennath,  which  certainly  did  not  open  on  the  brow  of  the 
hill.  This  seems  conclusive  against  Dr.  Bobinson’s  loca¬ 
tion  of  Gennath. 

Be  it  noticed  in  passing  that  Titus  did  not  overthrow 
these  towers,  but  allowed  them  to  stand  as  marks  of  the 
mighty  power  he  had  conquered.  It  is  not  probable  that 
two  hundred  and  thirty  or  fifty  years  had  removed  all 
traces  of  them,  or  that  in  Constantine’s  day  there  was  any 
doubt  about  their  location. 


LOCATION  OF  GEN  NAT  LI. 


295 


Nor  is  it  probable  that  the  gate  Gennatli  was  between 
two  of  these  towers,  as  Dr.  Robinson  appears  to  suppose, 
although  he  does  not  say  so  distinctly;  for  doubtless  Jo¬ 
sephus  would  then  have  stated  that  the  commencement  of 
the  second  wall  was  from  such  a  tower,  as  he  does  of  the 
third  wall,  which  began  at  the  tower  Hippicus ;  nor,  if 
the  gate  was  between  two  towers,  would  it  be  likely  that 
he  would  call  it  a  gate  of  the  old  wall.  He  would  rather 
call  it  a  gate  of  the  palace,  into  which  it  must  have 
opened,  since  that  lay  behind  the  citadel,  or  of  the  citadel 
itself,  which  evidently  included  the  three  towers. 

The  name  of  the  gate  Gennath ,  signifying  gardens , 
has  been  frequently  mentioned,  but  no  one  has  appeared 
to  observe  the  interesting  fact,  however  slight  may  seem 
its  importance  in  this  argument,  that  this  gate  opened  to¬ 
ward  that  garden  in  which  we  suppose  the  Saviour  found 
a  tomb.  It  shows  this  at  least,  that  on  this  part  of  the 
western  side  of  the  city  there  were  gardens. 

The  weight  of  evidence  is,  decidedly,  that  the  gate 
Gennath  was  not  near  the  tower  Hippicus,  but,  being  lo¬ 
cated  at  that  point  where  the  descent  from  Zion  into  the 
valley  was  least,  must  have  been  to  the  eastward  of  the 
three  towers,  and  quite  as  far  east  as  the  present  site  of 
Calvary.  This  being  the  case,  it  is  very  evident  that  that 
site,  as  well  as  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  are  outside  the  walls 
of  the  ancient  city,  supposing  the  wall  to  have  run 
northward  to  the  site  of  the  modern  Damascus  gate, 
which  is  the  line  on  which  I  helieve  all  are  agreed. 

A  very  trivial  objection  is  founded  on  the  narrowness 
of  the  city  thus  caused,  which  the  objectors  are  pleased 
to  measure  from  the  interior  wall  of  the  temple  inclosure 
instead  of  its  exterior.  The  citv,  or  rather  the  walled 
part  of  the  city,  was  of  very  uniform  breadth  from  its 
northern  to  its  southern  extremity,  if  this  line  be  correct, 
the  general  line  being  from  the  south-west  to  the  north- 


296 


POOL  AMYGDALON. 


east.  Outside  these  walls  was  a  large  growing  city, 
which  in  later  times  was  walled  in  by  Agrippa.  The 
second  wall  was  but  a  small  sweep,  inclosing  the  sloping 
sides  of  the  basin  of  Akra,  within  which  houses  had  been 
built.  Even  this  wall  had  not  been  necessary  in  the  long 
history  of  the  glory  of  Jerusalem,  which  had  been  con¬ 
tented  with  the  citadel  of  Zion,  and  the  inclosed  temple 
area,  and  the  hollow  between  them,  which  alone  were 
walled  during  all  the  times  of  the  kings. 

Dr.  Robinson’s  remaining  topographical  argument  is 
based  on  Josephus’s  description  of  the  final  taking  of 
Zion  by  Titus,  after  he  had  taken  the  second  wall ; 
and  he  supposes  the  Pool  Amygdalon  where  the  tenth 
legion  built  their  offensive  mounds  against  Zion  to  be 
identical  writh  the  Birket-el-Hammam.  It  may  have  been 
so,  although  its  distance  from  the  north  side  of  Zion  is 
very  great,  almost  too  great  to  admit  of  the  possibility 
of  its  being  so  regarded.  But  there  is  nothing  in  the  ac¬ 
count  of  Josephus  to  lead  to  any  conclusion  that  it  was 
within  or  without  the  second  wall. 

The  argument  that  the  attack  on  Zion  had  been  delayed 
till  the  second  Avail  Avas  taken  has  no  force  in  slioAving 
that  its  capture  Avas  necessary  to  that  attack ;  because 
the  fact  appears  distinctly,  that  the  final  taking  of  Zion 
Avas  not  by  this  attack  on  the  north.  Dr.  Robinson  errs 
in  stating  this,  Avhich  he  does  by  way  of  proving  that  the 
ground  must  have  been  less  high  at  the  north- Avest  corner 
of  Zion,  and  thus  that  the  gate  Gennath  Avould  be  there 
located.  He  says  (vol.  iii.,  new  edition,  page  215) :  “  He 
divided  his  force  against  Antonia  on  the  one  hand,  and 
the  north-western  part  of  Zion  on  the  other,  oArer-against 
the  royal  palace.  This  Avas  obviously  the  most  feasible 
point  of  attack,  in  respect  to  the  ground,  notwithstand¬ 
ing  the  great  strength  of  the  three  towers,  Hippicus, 
Phasaelus,  and  Mariamne,  by  which  it  Avas  defended. 


OLD  ARCH. 


297 


And  here  it  was  that  the  Romans,  in  consequence  of  a 
panic  among  the  Jewish  leaders,  finally  made  their  way 
by  a  breach  into  the  upper  city.” 

The  breach  was  not  on  the  north  side  of  Zion  at  all. 
Josephus  expressly  states  that  the  Romans  could  never 
have  taken  the  towers  on  the  north  side  by  their  engines, 
and  his  description  of  the  taking  of  the  towers  contains 
the  statement  that  their  defenders  were  frightened  away 
by  men  who  told  them  of  a  breach  in  the  icestern  wall 
and  the  entrance  of  the  Romans  there.* 

Zion  was  impregnable  on  its  north  side,  and  remained 
so  in  this  last  great  struggle.  So  steep  was  all  that  part 
of  it  near  the  towers,  that  the  engines  could  never  have 
made  a  breach  in  it. 

In  this  connection  I  may  refer  to  a  gateway  of  which 
some  remains  are  visible,  which  has  by  some  been  sup¬ 
posed  to  be  the  gate  Gennath  itself,  and  by  others  a 
gate  in  the  second  wall.  It  is  one  of  the  most  curious 
and  interesting  relics  of  antiquity  in  Jerusalem.  It  is 
situated  on  the  side  of  a  street,  running  south  from 
the  bazaars,  not  far  from  the  north-east  corner  of  Mount 
Zion. 

Dr.  Robinson  disposes  of  it  in  his  own  way  as  follows. 
I  quote  him  for  the  sake  of  saying  that,  in  this  instance, 
either  his  prejudice  leads  him  to  be  unfair,  or  his  observa¬ 
tion  is  seriously  at  fault. 

“  Here  *  *  *  is  seen  the  crown  of  a  small  round  arch, 
apparently  ancient,  fronting  toward  the  west,  and  now  ris¬ 
ing  only  just  above  the  ground.  AVe  endeavored  to  gain 
access  to  it  from  the  rear,  but  without  success.  The  stones 
of  the  arch  are  small,  rudely  cut,  and  without  any  trace 
of  beveling.  It  may  have  belonged  to  a  small  gateway, 
perhaps  in  the  wall  of  a  dwelling  or  a  court.  It  more  re¬ 
sembles  the  rude  entrance  of  an  aqueduct  or  sewer.  A 

*  B.  J,,  ix,  8,  4, 

13* 


298 


OLD  ARCH. 


glance  only  is  needed  at  its  appearance  and  position,  to 
show  that  it  could  never  have  had  connection  with  any 
city  wall.  So  trivial,  indeed,  is  the  whole  fragment,” 
etc.,  etc. 

The  reader  can  not  fail  to  observe  the  repetition  of  the 
word  small.  It  is  a  small  round  arch ;  the  stones  are 
small.  It  can  not  be  a  city  gate — it  was  the  gate  of  a 
house  or  a  court — and  a  small  gateway,  at  that.  Now  for 
the  facts. 

Of  this  arch  seven  stones,  forming  the  entire  arch  re¬ 
main  above  ground.  The  sides  of  the  gateway  are  below 
the  earth.  The  rear  is  a  dye-shop,  built  up  close.  I  got 
into  it  with  a  candle,  but  the  stones  were  thickly  plastered 
over,  and  I  could  see  nothing.  But  the  arch  was  and  is  a 
massive  structure,  which  would  sufficiently  impress  any 
candid  observer. 

The  stones  of  the  arch  differ  in  size.  The  first  stone, 
which  is  entirely  above  ground,  is  five  feet  top,  three  and 
a  half  bottom,  by  five  high — depth  not  less  than  five  feet. 
The  reader,  by  marking  out  this  size  before  him  will  judge 
how  trivial  the  arch  wras.  The  next  stone  is  a  little  larger, 
three  inches  broader ;  the  next,  the  key-stone,  is  a  little 
smaller.  The  next  is  larger  again,  and  the  fifth  is  so 
crumbled  that  I  could  not  measure  its  size.  The  arc  of 
the  interior  of  the  arch  is  fifteen  feet.  Not  a  very  small 
arch  for  the  small  gateway  of  a  house  or  a  court !  The 
idea  of  its  being  the  entrance  to  a  sewer  is  trifling  with 
truth.  There  are  four  large  stones  remaining  on  the 
north  side  of  the  arch  forming  part  of  the  strong  wall  in 
which  it  stood,  but  I  do  not  intend  here  to  attempt  any 
conjecture  as  to  its  origin.  I  am  not  prepared  to  con¬ 
sider  it  the  gate  Gennath,  but  it  is  not  impossible  that 
it  was  a  gateway  in  a  tower  of  the  second  wall.  It  stands 
in  a  remarkable  line  with  a  ridge  extending  quite  to  the 
Damascus  gate,  in  which  some  antiquarians  have  sup- 


OLD  ARCH. 


299 


posed  that  they  recognized  traces  of  the  second  wall. 
The  Porta  Judiciara  stands  parallel  to  and  within  a  few 
feet  of  this  line,  and  may  have  been  the  arch  on  the  inside 
of  a  tower,  of  which  the  outside,  twenty  feet  distant, 
opened  outside  the  wall  of  the  city,  the  line  of  the  wall 
passing  between  the  two  arches.  This  is  the  archway 
through  which,  tradition  has  it,  that  Christ  was  led  out  to 
crucifixion. 

As  to  the  absence  of  beveling  on  the  stones,  it  is  to 
be  observed  that  Dr.  Robinson  has  a  sort  of  mania  for 
beveled  stones.  He  regards  them  as  almost  unmistakable 
evidences  of  high  antiquity,  and  seems  to  think  no  wall 
can  be  old  that  is  without  them,  a  notion  that  fifteen 
minutes  in  Jerusalem  ought  to  expel,  since  there  are  nu¬ 
merous  walls  of  beveled  stone  of  late  Christian  periods, 
and  others  of  plain  stone  that  antedate  the  fall  of  Jeru¬ 
salem. 

This  gateway  is,  perhaps,  the  most  massive  perfect 
arch,  ancient  or  modern,  in  Jerusalem,  and  future  exca¬ 
vations  will,  probably,  connect  it  with  some  great  struc¬ 
ture,  wall,  or  castle,  of  the  days  of  Jewish  glory.  Should 
any  traveler  of  less  distinguished  reputation  for  calm  and 
candid  observation,  describe  it  as  Dr.  Robinson  has,  it 
would,  very  probably,  be  set  down  to  wrant  of  fairness  or 
inability  to  form  a  correct  estimate. 

A  statement  is  made  by  Dr.  Robinson  and  others,  calcu¬ 
lated  to  throw  discredit  on  the  locality  of  the  Sepulchre, 
that  there  was  no  evidence  of  any  tombs  having  existed  in 
this  region  of  Jerusalem,  and  that  it  is,  therefore,  not 
probable  that  there  was  a  sepulchre  in  a  garden  here¬ 
abouts. 

The  location,  by  Josephus,  of  the  monument  of  the 
High  Priest  John  is  just  here — within  a  few  rods,  at 
most,  from  the  Sepulchre.  But  a  very  decided  answer  to 
this  statement  is  found  in  the  inclosure  of  the  Church  of 


300 


TOMBS  NEAR  CALVARY. 


the  Resurrection,  in  the  tombs  known  as  those  of  Nico- 
demus  and  Joseph  of  Arimathea. 

In  the  western  part  of  the  church,  just  outside  the 
great  wall  of  the  rotunda,  at  a  distance  of  about  forty 
feet  from  the  tomb  of  Christ,  is  a  low,  dark  vault  in  the 
solid  rock,  within  which  are  four  open  graves  (cut  in  the 
rock)  and  two  closed.  Two  of  these  are  niches,  opening 
in  the  side  of  the  crypt,  and  two  are  sunk  in  the  floor. 

Of  the  antiquity  of  this  crypt  there  is  no  reasonable 
doubt.  The  impartial  visitor  can  not  enter  it  without 
feeling  the  great  force  of  the  evidence  thus  afforded  that 
he  is  on  a  spot  which  was,  of  old,  a  place  of  graves,  a 
place  which  might,  therefore,  have  well  deserved  its 
'  name  Golgotha. 

There  is  no  evidence  that  there  was  ever  a  tomb  hewn 
in  the  rock  in  or  near  Jerusalem  since  the  time  of  Christ, 
but  though  this  may  have  been,  there  is  enough  in  the 
appearance  of,  at  least,  two  of  these  niches,  to  convince 
the  visitor  of  their  high  antiquity. 

Hr.  Robinson  did  not  see  these  tombs  on  his  first  visit 
to  Jerusalem.  Indeed,  it  is  much  to  be  regretted  that  he 
did  not  then  examine  the  Holy  Sepulchre  at  all.  It  is  no 
reflection  upon  his  judgment  to  say  that  the  arguments 
derived  from  the  interior  of  the  church  and  sepulchre 
might  have  had  a  weight  in  forming  an  opinion  when 
his  mind  was  as  yet  undetermined,  which  they  would  not 
have  on  his  second  visit,  when  he  came  back  to  Jerusalem 
with  settled  opinions.  This  is  but  human  nature. 

On  his  last  visit,  examining  them,  he  supposes  that 
there  is  no  reason  for  referring  the  tombs  of  Joseph  and 
Ricodemus  even  to  so  early  an  age  as  that  of  Constantine, 
and  says,  “  This  is  obviously  true  in  respect  to  the  sarco¬ 
phagi  sunk  in  the  floor.  JsTo  other  instance  will  be  found, 
I  think,  of  like  excavations  in  the  floor  of  a  crypt.”  (Vol. 
iii.,  new  edition,  page  181.) 


TOMBS  AT  GOLGOTHA. 


301 


This  statement  is  not  founded  on  correct  observation, 
as  indeed  he  might  have  judged  by  comparison  with  his 
own  work,  volume  iii.,  new  edition,  page  479,  where  he  de¬ 
scribes  the  tombs  near  the  ancient  Abilene,  and  particularly 
one  which  Mr.  Robson  entered,  having  “  four  niches  ( lo¬ 
culi )  in  the  floor  of  the  chamber  itself.”  He  adds  that 
other  tombs  here  are  similar,  as  indeed  I  am  able  to 
affirm,  having  found  many  tombs  there,  scores  indeed,  of 
this  description.  These  tombs  are  doubtless  of  as  early  a 
date  as  Lysanias,  who  was  tetrarch  of  Abilene  in  the  days 
of  John  the  Baptist.  (Luke,  iii.,  1.) 

This  style  of  tomb  is  also  vrell  known  to  all  who  have 
examined  an  Egyptian  necropolis,  as  very  common  there 
in  remotely  ancient  times.  I  therefore  see  no  reason  to 
doubt  the  antiquity  of  this  crypt  near  the  Holy  Sepulchre. 
Were  it  of  a  later  period  than  the  time  of  the  uncovering 
of  the  Sepulchre  by  Constantine,  I  have  no  doubt  we 
should  have  a  record  of  its  period  and  object.  A  very 
common,  easy,  and  absurd  method  of  disposing  of  these 
arguments,  is  to  talk  vdsely  of  monkish  tricks,  but  the 
monks  of  the  Terra  Santa  have  in  all  ages  been  closely 
watched  by  zealous  enemies,  either  unbelievers  or  here¬ 
tics,  and  that  they  should  succeed  in  imposing  on  the 
world  by  the  digging  of  such  tombs,  is  impossible.  An¬ 
other  style  of  argument,  which  I  am  fully  prepared  to  find 
myself  met  with,  is  that  which  ascribes  any  one’s  belief  in 
the  Sepulchre  to  monkish  influence.  I  admit  very  freely 
my  indebtedness  to  the  monks  of  the  Terra  Santa  for  hos¬ 
pitality  and  kindness.  I  am  so  stupid  myself  that  I  have 
never  been  able  to  see  why  acquaintance  and  friendship 
with  the  monks  should  have  any  greater  influence  than 
decided  Protestant  and  anti-Roman,  Greek,  Armenian 
or  Jew  education  feelings  and  proclivities,  or  why  good 
treatment  in  the  Convent  of  the  Terra  Santa  should  af¬ 
fect  my  judgment  in  the  Church  of  the  Resurrection,  or 


302 


HISTORY  OF  THE  SEPULCHRE. 


here  in  America.  Such  arguments  have  no  weight  except 
in  the  minds  of  those  who  use  them. 

I  scarcely  need  again  call  the  reader’s  attention  to  the 
fact  that  this  is  not  to  be  understood  as  an  argument  to 
establish  the  authenticity  of  the  alleged  Holy  Places.  This 
is  not  attempted.  But  I  believe  it  can  be,  and  has  been 
shown,  that  there  is  no  force  or  value  in  the  attempt  to 
prove  them  false,  and  this  done,  every  man  is  left  to 
weigh  the  sufficiency  of  the  evidence  in  their  favor,  and 
believe  or  reject  it,  as  he  sees  fit. 


IY. 

HISTORY  OF  CALVARY  AND  THE  SEPULCHRE. 

It  only  remains  for  me  to  give  a  brief  history  of  the 
Holy  Sepulchre,  that  the  reader  may  be  in  possession  of 
all  the  facts  on  which  to  base  his  faith. 

We  have  seen  that  the  Sepulchre  was  marked  by  the 
erection  over  it  of  a  temple,  which  Jerome,  writing  in  the 
fifth  century,  ascribes  to  Adrian.  When  Helena  visited 
Jerusalem,  she  was  guided  to  the  spot  by  the  resident 
Christians.  Her  son  Constantine,  Emperor  of  Rome, 
having  been  converted  to  Christianity,  wTas  willing  and 
anxious  to  devote  treasure  to  the  beautifying  of  the  Holy 
City,  and  the  aged  and  pious  pilgrim,  his  mother,  was 
equally  anxious  to  place  the  sepulchre  of  Christ  in  a  posi¬ 
tion  to  be  honored,  as  it  had  been  before  disgraced.  Con¬ 
stantine  ordered  the  removal  of  the  temple  of  Venus, 
and  it  was  done,  the  mound  on  which  it  stood  removed, 
and  a  cavern  found,  answering,  in  all  respects,  the  descrip¬ 
tions  of  the  evangelists.  I  believe  no  one  doubts  that 
that  cavern  stood  on  the  spot  now  pointed  out  as  the  site 
of  the  Sepulchre,  and  I  think  the  reader  will  believe  with 


HELENA. 


303 


me  that  the  identical  cave  remains,  the  veritable  rock- 
hewn  tomb. 

In  the  absence  of  better  reasoning,  a  very  trifling  ob¬ 
jection  has  been  magnified  much  by  writers  on  the  Holy 
Sepulchre.  It  is  that  there  is  a  discrepancy  in  the  ac¬ 
counts  of  the  discovery  of  the  Sepulchre  and  other  holy 
places,  Eusebius  ascribing  it  to  Constantine,  and  later 
writers  to  his  mother.  The  latter  was  in  Jerusalem,  and 
the  emperor  in  Rome.  The  emperor  was  the  commander, 
and  the  paymaster.  His  mother  was  present,  as  a  de¬ 
voted  pilgrim,  to  aid  in  person.  Eusebius  speaks  of  the 
royal  patron,  and  later  writers  of  both  the  patron  and 
the  pilgrim.  The  reader  will  have  no  difficulty  in  under¬ 
standing  facts  if  he  bear  in  mind  that  Helena  was  in  Je¬ 
rusalem  about  325,  and  left  there  after  the  uncovering  of 
the  Sepulchre,  and  her  discovery  of  the  Cross,  and  died 
before  the  Basilica  of  Constantine  was  completed,  at  the 
dedication  of  which  Eusebius  was  present.  Eusebius 
might  well  omit  her  in  his  account  of  the  great  work  of 
Constantine,  and  yet  no  argument  be  thence  derived  that 
she  had  no  share  in  it. 

I  may  pause  here,  a  moment,  to  allude  to  that  other 
search,  carried  on  by  Helena  herself,  which  many  writers 
have  confounded  with  the  finding  of  the  Sepulchre. 

While  the  empress-mother  was  in  Jerusalem,  she  list¬ 
ened  to  a  story — tradition,  if  the  word  be  better — which 
aged  Christians  related  to  her,  of  the  history  of  the  cross 
on  which  Christ  suffered.  They  said  that  it  was  well 
known  among  Christians,  that,  on  the  night  of  the  cruci¬ 
fixion,  the  cross  was  thrown  into  a  pit  near  the  place  of 
crucifixion,  and  that  it  had  never  been  removed  from  that 
spot. 

This  statement  is  ample  evidence  to  oppose  to  the  at¬ 
tempted  proof  that  no  tradition  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre 
existed  in  the  time  of  Eusebius,  and  that  the  discovery  of 


304 


THE  TRUE  CROSS. 


the  place  was  miraculous.  If  men  knew  where  the  cross 
lay,  they  knew  where  the  tomb  was.  If  they  had  an 
account  of  one,  it  involves  necessarily  the  fact  that  they 
had  of  both.  The  very  places  were,  according  to  the 
Scripture  history,  the  same.  Wherever  Calvary  was,  “in 
that  place”  was  a  garden  and  a  sepulchre. 

Helena  caused  that  place  to  be  excavated.  The  exca¬ 
vation  remains  unto  this  day.  Ho  one  denies  it.  She 
found  in  it  three  crosses,  or  pieces  of  timber  which  she 
believed  to  be  parts  of  three  crosses ;  one  of  them  she 
recognized  as  the  true  cross  of  Christ,  by  the  inscription 
of  Pilate,  which  remained  upon  it. 

The  story  that  it  was  recognized  by  touching  the  three 
crosses  to  a  sick  person,  and  her  reviving  and  being 
healed  by  the  true  cross,  is  of  a  few  years’  later  date  than 
Chrysostom  and  Saint  Ambrose,  who  only  state  that  it 
was  known  by  the  inscription,  and  say  nothing  of  the 
miracle.* 

Without  pausing  to  discuss  the  question,  whether  the 
wood  here  found  was  or  was  not  the  wood  on  which 
Christ  suffered,  it  is,  nevertheless,  a  discovery  of  the 
deepest  interest  in  a  historical  point  of  view.  The  nails 
which  were  found  in  the  same  pit,  were  believed  to  be 
the  nails  that  had  transfixed  the  hands  of  the  Victim. 
The  history  of  two  of  them  is  forever  lost.  Two  others 
were  wrought,  by  order  of  Helena,  into  a  crown  for  her 
son;  and  the  royalty  of  Rome  acknowledged  the  suprem¬ 
acy  of  Him  whom  a  Roman  governor  crucified  for  saying 
that  he  was  King  of  the  Jews,  by  wearing  a  crown  made 
of  the  iron  that  the  nation  believed  was  the  instrument  of 
his  torture.  The  history  of  those  nails,  whether  they 
were  or  not  the  nails  on  which  the  sins  of  mankind  hung 
— of  the  heads  that  have  worn  that  crown,  from  the 
mighty  Charles  to  the  child  of  Destiny — of  the  weary 
*  Ambros.  Fun.  Orat.  de  Thedos.  Imp.  a.d.  395. 


WOOD  OF  THE  CROSS. 


305 


temples  that  have  throbbed  under  it — would  be  one  of 
the  most  sublime  histories  of  this  world. 

And  the  history  of  the  wood  is  of  greater  interest. 
Could  men  but  know  the  beating  hearts  that  have  hushed 
to  quiet  death  under  fragments  of  that  ’wood — the  vows 
that  have  been  made  over  pieces  of  those  beams — the 

I  souls  that  have  gone  to  God,  fighting  valiantly  on  old 
battle-fields  around  the  sacred  wood — could  one  thou- 

Isandth  part  of  the  history  of  men  as  related  to  it  be  told, 
we  should  regard  the  excavation  of  that  cavern  as  one  of 
the  most  thrilling  incidents  in  the  world’s  story. 

But  a  few  years  later  than  this  discovery,  Cyril  speaks 
of  it  and  of  the  fragments,  as  already  widely  distributed.* 
Nevertheless,  the  chief  part  of  the  wood,  enough  to  be 
called  the  cross,  was  preserved  in  Jerusalem,  where  it 
became  one  of  the  objects  of  greatest  interest  to  pilgrims. 
At  the  time  of  the  Persian  invasion  it  was  carried  away 
by  Chosroes ;  but  recovered  again,  and  restored  by  the 
Emperor  Heraclius,  who,  on  the  14th  September,  629, 
marched  barefoot  and  in  sackcloth,  into  Jerusalem,  carry¬ 
ing  on  his  own  shoulder  this  piece  of  holy  wood,  recov¬ 
ered  from  the  enemy ;  from  which  time  to  the  present, 
that  day  has  been  a  feast  day  in  the  Romish  and  English 
calendar.  It  continued  to  be  in  the  possession  of  the 
church  of  Jerusalem  until  the  time  of  the  Crusades. 

It  was  carried  from  Jerusalem  to  rouse  the  drooping 
spirits  of  the  Crusaders,  when  summoned  by  Guy,  last 
king  of  Jerusalem,  to  the  battle  of  Hattin  ;  and  I  shall 
have  occasion  hereafter  to  describe  its  fate  in  that  noted 
conflict.  I  find  it  afterward  spoken  of  as  in  Jerusalem,  in 
the  possession  of  Salali  e’deen,  although  an  old  account 
states  that  it  was  buried  on  the  field  of  battle  ;  but  later 
than  this  I  am  not  able  to  trace  its  history  by  any  author¬ 
ities  within  my  reach. 

*  Cat.  iv.  10;  x.  19;  xiii.  4. 


306 


THE  SEPULCHRE. 


The  Sepulchre,  as  uncovered  by  order  of  Constantine, 
Eusebius  describes  as  “  a  cave  which  had  evidently  been 
hewn  out,”  and  as  being  hewn  in  an  isolated  rock,  one 
which  stood  by  itself,  on  the  level  land.  He  saw  it  with 
his  own  eyes.  We  are  not  now  speaking  of  tradition. 
From  that  day  to  this  the  written  record  is  complete, 
and  no  one  doubts  that  this  spot  is  unchanged. 

And  I  think  the  same  cave  remains. 

This  idea  seems  startling,  especially  to  visitors  who 
have  seen  only  the  marble  decorations  of  it. 

By  Constantine’s  order,  the  rock  was  hewn  into  a 
smaller  shape,  decorated  with  columns,  and  left  standing 
opposite  the  western  front  of  his  church,  or  basilica. 

Cyril,  born  a.d.  315,  cotemporary  with  and  ordained 
by  Macarius  himself  (who  was  bishop  of  Jerusalem,  a.d. 
335,  when  the  basilica  was  dedicated),  and  who  succeeded 
him  as  bishop  in  350,  describes  the  rock  of  Golgotha  as 
showing  how  the  rocks  were  riven,  because  of  Christ’s 
crucifixion,  and  also  the  cave,  and  how  it  was  hewn 
down.* 

I  scarcely  need  cite  the  Bordeaux  Pilgrim  (a.d.  333), 
who  says,  u  On  the  left  hand  is  the  little  hill  Golgotha, 
where  the  Lord  was  crucified,  and,  about  a  stone’s  throw 
from  it,  the  crypt  wherein  his  body  was  laid.”  For,  I 
presume,  no  one  doubts  the  existence  of  a  cave  at  the 
time  of  the  dedication,  a.d.  335. 

The  Sepulchre  remained  the  object- of  Christian  solici¬ 
tude  until  the  beginning  of  the  seventh  century,  when 
Chosroes,  the  Persian  monarch,  swept  over  Palestine,  and 
captured  Jerusalem.  The  Jews,  who  followed  in  his 
train,  destroyed  the  Christian  churches,  and  the  basilica 
was  burned.  The  Christian  inhabitants  were  slaughtered, 
and  the  city  once  more  desolated.  This  invasion  was  like 
the  hurricane,  furious,  but  passing  swiftly  away. 

*  Cyril,  Lect.  xiv.  9. 


OLD  PILGRIMS. 


307 


Modestus,  vicar  of  the  Patriarch  of  Jerusalem,  rebuilt 
the  churches  on  their  ruins.  In  the  latter  part  of  the 
century,  Adamnanus  describes  the  visit  of  Arculfus  to 
Jerusalem,  and  the  cave  in  the  solid  rock  then  standing, 
from  which  it  appears  that  it  had  not  been  destroyed  in 
the  Persian  invasion.  He  describes  the  marks  of  the 
tools  on  the  rock,  the  color  of  which  was  white  and  red, 
which  is  the  color  of  the  native  stone  of  Jerusalem,  as 
now  seen.  He  is  very  minute  in  his  account  of  the  cave 
as  such  ( Spelacum  sive  spelunca ,  recte  vocitari  p>ossit). 
The  door  was  on  the  east ;  the  chamber,  a  foot  and  a 
half  higher  than  an  ordinary  man ;  the  sepulchre,  on  the 
north  side  of  the  chamber,  excavated  in  the  same  rock, 
and  elevated  three  palms  above  the  floor.  All  this  is  ac¬ 
curately  descriptive  of  the  present  cave. 

St.  Willibald,  who  visited  Jerusalem  in  a.d.  765,  de¬ 
scribes  the  Sepulchre  briefly,  but  with  ample  minuteness : 
“Ulud  sepulchrum  fuerat  in  petra  excisum  ;  et  ilia  petra 
stat  super  terram,  et  est  quadrans  in  imo,  et  in  summo 
subtilis  *  *  *  et  in  orientali  plaga  in  ilia  petra  se- 

pulchri  est  janua,  per  quam  intrant  homines  in  sepulchrum 
orare.  Et  ibi  est  intus  lectus,  in  quo  corpus  Domini 
jacebat.”*  This  description  again  agrees  with  the  present 
appearance  of  the  Sepulchre. 

Such  it  continued  until  the  accession  of  the  Kalif  El 
Hakim,  who,  a.d.  1011,  demolished  the  Church  of  the 
Sepulchre.  He,  however,  very  soon  restored  the  build¬ 
ings.  The  historians  who  describe  his  attempt  either  say 
nothing  of  the  tomb  itself,  or,  as  Glaber  and  Ademar, 
aflirm  decidedly  that  it  was  not  in  any  way  injured  at 
this  time.  Ademar  says  it  remained  solid  and  immova¬ 
ble.  f  An  attempt  to  destroy  it  by  fire  was  made,  but 
being  rock  it  resisted  the  effort. 

*  Hodoep.  S.  Willibaldi  in  Thesaurus,  etc.,  Canisii,  p.  111. 

■(■  Dr.  Williams  cites  the  only  two  chroniclers  who  mention  the  result 


308 


OLD  PILGRIMS. 


Throughout  the  Crusades,  which  followed  soon  after 
the  time  of  El  Hakim,  the  Sepulchre  is  spoken  of  as  ex¬ 
isting.  No  one  of  the  numerous  writers  of  that  period 
mentioned  any  doubt  of  its  existence,  or  spoke,  as  they 
all  would  have  spoken,  of  the  place  of  the  Sepulchre  in 
distinction  from  the  Tomb  itself. 

Thus  Robert  the  monk,  writing  at  the  beginning  of 
the  next  century,  and  describing  that  day  of  slaughter 
when  the  Christians  entered  Jerusalem  with  Godfrey,  says 
of  the  soldiers,  that  they  w’ent  to  the  Holy  Sepulchre  of  the 
Lord  in  which  he  was  buried  ;*  and  Baldric,  of  the  same 
period,  speaks  expressly  of  the  Church  as  distinct  from 
the  Sepulchre,  -which  was  in  it.f 

Indeed,  to  doubt  it  would  be  to  render  ridiculous  all 
the  devotion  of  the  Crusaders,  and  falsify  the  entire  his¬ 
torical  evidence  of  that  period,  wThen  men  by  millions 
visited  and  knelt  at,  or  fought  and  died  for  the  privilege 
of  kneeling  at  the  Sepulchre. 

Benjamin  of  Tudela  (a  Jew),  visiting  Jerusalem  about 

of  El  Hakim’s  attempt  on  the  cave  itself.  I  am  indebted  to  his  work 
for  their  evidence,  not  finding  either  of  them  within  my  reach.  Glaber 
says:  “Ipsum  quoque  concavum  sepulchrum  tumulum  ferri  tuditibus 
quassare  tentantes,  minime  valuerunt.”  Ademar  more  distinctly  and 
decidedly:  “Lapidem  vero  monumenti  cum  nullatenus  possent  com- 
minuere,  ignem  copiosam  superadjiciunt,  sed  quasi  adamas  immobilis 
mansit  et  solidus.” — Holy  City ,  vol.  i.,  p.  349. 

*  “Ad  sanctum  Domini  Sepulchrum  lseto  incessu  perrexerunt;  et  ei 
qui  in  eo  sepultus  fuit  gratias  referentes  capitalicia  sua  obtulerunt. 
Ipsa  die,  sicut  per  prophetam  fuerat  prsedictum,  Sepulchrum  Domini  fuit 
gloriosum,  cum  omnes  *  *  *  proni  incedebant,  et  pavimenta  imbre 

lachrymarum  inundabant.” — Roberti  Monachi ,  Hist.  Hieros .,  lib.  ix.  Tide 
Gesta  Dei,  etc.,  vol.  i.,  p.  16. 

f  Baldric,  the  Archbishop,  speaks  in  the  same  connection  of  Sancti 
Sepulchri  Ecclesiam,  and  the  Sepulchre  itself,  making  the  distinction  be¬ 
tween  them,  and  describes  the  crusaders,  hastening  after  the  conquest, 
“ad  Sepulchrum  Salvatoris  deosculandum.” — Baldrici  Archiep.,  Hist. 
Ilieros .,  lib.  iv. 


f 


It 


FATHER  BONIFACE.  309 

1160-1170,  writes:  “The  large  place  of  worship  called 
Sepulchre,  and  containing  the  Sepulchre  of  that  man ,  is 
visited  by  all  pilgrims.” 

To  multiply  illustrations  would  be  tedious.  All  trav¬ 
elers  and  all  writers,  with  hardly  an  exception,  through 
successive  centuries,  down  to  this  time,  have  regarded  the 
Sepulchre  as  a  cave  in  the  solid  rock. 

Perhaps  the  most  satisfactory  testimony  is  that  of 
Father  Boniface,  of  Ragusa,  guardian  of  the  Holy  Sepul¬ 
chre  from  1550  to  1559.  By  order  of  Pope  Julius  III., 
and  permission  of  Sultan  Suleiman,  he  undertook  the  re¬ 
pairing  of  the  Church  of  the  Sepulchre,  and  then  uncov¬ 
ered  the  rock  from  its  casings  of  ornamental  marble.  He 
says  :*  “  On  the  demolition  whereof,  the  Holy  Sepulchre 
of  our  Lord,  cut  in  the  rock,  offered  itself  plainly  to  our 
eyes,  whereon  two  angels  were  seen  depicted  *  *  * 

which  pictures,  when  first  they  felt  the  influence  of  the 
air,  in  great  part  vanished.  But  when  it  became  neces¬ 
sary  to  move  one  of  the  slabs  of  alabaster  with  which 
the  Sepulchre  was  covered,  there  clearly  appeared  to  us 
that  ineffable  place  wherein  the  Son  of  man  rested  for 
three  days.” 

In  1808  the  rotunda  of  the  church  was  destroyed  by 
fire.  The  Sepulchre  was  the  centre  of  a  furnace  of  fire, 
the  timber  of  the  dome  piled  over  it,  but  a  picture  of  the 
resurrection,  then  hanging  in  it,  but  now  outside  the 
chapel  of  the  angel,  was  intact  by  fire,  and  the  cave  and 
its  contents  were  wholly  uninjured.  It  has  been  very 
foolishly  stated  by  some  that  the  marble  slab  over  the 
couch  was  cracked  by  this  fire.  No  one  who  has  seen 
this  fissure,  of  which  I  have  before  spoken  (page  79), 
would  so  state.  It  is  of  uniform  width,  about  an  eighth 
of  an  inch,  extending  two  thirds  across  the  slab,  and 

*  Quaresmius,  vol.  ii.,  p.  512.  Not  having  Quaresmius  at  hand,  I 
quote  from  Dr.  Williams. 


310  THE  CASING  OF  THE  SEPULCHRE. 

ending  abruptly,  precisely,  as  I  have  said  before,  as  if  a 
thin  stratum  of  softer  stone  had  crumbled  out.  It  can  no 
more  be  mistaken  for  a  crack  in  the  rock  made  by  fire,  or 
any  other  cause,  than  could  the  slit  made  by  a  saw  half 
way  across  a  board. 

My  friend,  Mr.  Pierotti,  architect  of  the  Terra  Santa, 
who  was  residing  in  Jerusalem  for  the  purpose  of  com¬ 
pleting  certain  buildings  for  the  Austrian  government, 
and  erecting  some  votive  and  other  stuctures  within  the 
great  Church  of  the  Resurrection,  accompanied  me  in 
many  of  my  visits  to  the  old  Church,  all  parts  of 
which  we  explored  together,  from  rock  foundation  to 
dome.  On  one  of  these  visits  we  examined  with  great 
care  the  little  building  which  incloses  the  Sepulchre. 
Entering  the  Chapel  of  the  Angel  in  company  with 
a  Fransiscan  brother,  he  opened  a  small  concealed  door 
in  the  marble  side  of  the  little  chapel,  by  which  we  were 
let  into  a  dark  passage  between  the  outer  and  inner  walls 
of  the  building.  We  climbed  a  narrow  and  steep  stair¬ 
case,  passing  with  difficulty  among  iron  bars  which 
braced  the  marble  slabs,  over  the  top  of  the  Sepulchre 
to  the  roof  under  the  dome.  The  reader,  by  referring 
to  the  very  exact  view  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre  given  else¬ 
where  in  this  volume,  will  perceive  that  we  were  then 
standing  under  the  sharp  dome  which  overtops  the 
building,  which  building  itself  stands  in  the  centre  of 
the  great  rotunda  of  the  church,  and  is  exposed  to  rain 
and  storm  through  the  open  unglazed  dome  above  it. 

“  It  is  solid  rock,”  said  my  Franciscan  companion, 
stamping  his  foot  on  the  floor  upon  which  we  stood.  I 
expressed  disbelief  to  see  if  he  would  affirm  it,  and  he  „ 
was  surprised  at  my  faithlessness.  “  Certainly  it  is,” 
said  he ;  “  no  one  can  doubt  it.”  Mr.  Pierotti  then 
assured  me  of  the  fact,  as  one  with  which  he  was  per¬ 
fectly  familiar  in  his  capacity  of  architect,  admitted  by 


THE  FIRE  OF  1808. 


311 


all  the  churches  to  all  parts  of  the  building,  and  engaged 
in  making  repairs  and  improvements  in  it.  My  attention 
was  called  to  the  hole  through  which  the  smoke  came  up 
from  the  lamps  in  the  tomb,  and  its  appearance,  it  can 
not  be  denied,  was  that  of  a  hole  through  solid  rock. 

I  yielded  unhesitatingly  to  Mr.  Pierotti’s  statements, 
knowing  him  to  be  a  gentleman  of  intelligence  and  edu¬ 
cation,  thoroughly  familiar  with  the  Holy  Places,  and  in 
no  respect  given  to  promoting  monkish  deceptions. 

Regarding  the  fire  of  1808  as  one  of  the  most  import¬ 
ant  points  in  this  chain  of  evidence,  I  gathered  satis¬ 
factory  evidence  of  its  effects  while  standing  on  the 
Sepulchre,  and  afterward  in  the  rotunda.  The  timbers 
of  the  rotunda  fell  on  and  over  the  Sepulchre,  making  it 
the  centre  of  a  fiery  furnace.  The  outer  casings  of 
marble  were  calcined,  but  the  interior  was  untouched, 
and  its  contents,  among  which  was  an  oil  picture,  were 
uninjured.  This  fact  is  incontrovertible.  Nor  can  I  ac¬ 
count  for  it  in  any  other  way  than  by  supposing  the 
Sepulchre  arch  to  be  the  ancient  stone  of  the  hill. 

There  is  no  reason,  therefore,  to  doubt  that  the  cave 
remains.  Neither  is  there  any  reason  to  doubt  that  the 
cave  uncovered  by  Constantine’s  order  was  the  veritable 
tomb  of  Christ.  I  am  content,  then,  to  believe  that  my 
knees  have  pressed  the  rock  where  the  feet  of  Mary 
stood  when  she  lifted  her  beloved  load  to  its  resting- 
place,  and  where  the  feet  of  the  risen  Saviour  first 
pressed  the  rock  of  the  world  he  had  redeemed. 

I  have  not  space  in  this  volume  to  attempt  any  de¬ 
scription  of  the  surface  of  the  ground  in  the  Church  of 
the  Sepulchre.  The  very  elaborate  and  exact  plan,  for 
which,  as  well  as  the  other  large  illustrations  in  this 
volume,  I  am  indebted  to  Dr.  Williams’s  work  (the  Holy 
City)  will  convey  an  idea  of  the  localities  within  the 
church  better  than  a  volume  of  description.  The  eye 


312 


CALVARY. 

will  instantly  fall  on  the  two  heavy  black  semicircles  at 
opposite  ends  of  the  church.  These,  as  most  of  the 
other  heavy  black  lines,  represent  solid  rock. 

I  suppose  that  at  the  time  of  the  crucifixion  there 
were  two  knolls  or  cliffs  of  rock  facing  each  other,  or 
separated  from  each  other  by  a  space  of  which  the  figure 
19  is  nearly  the  centre.  The  cross  stood  upon  one  of 
these  knolls.  The  tomb  was  hewn  in  the  face  of  the 
other.  Constantine  and  later  builders  have  hewn  away 
the  rock  around  the  tomb,  while  Calvary  remains,  stern, 
cold  rock,  as  when  rent  by  the  earthquake. 


_ 


At  length  our  pilgrimage  was  accomplished.  I  had 
washed  in  the  Jordan,  and  had  prayed  at  the  Sepulchre 
of  the  Lord.  I  had  laved  my  eyes  in  the  Fountain  of 
Siloam,  whose  waters  go  softly,  and  had  bathed  my  fore¬ 
head  in  the  dews  that  fell  at  evening  in  Gethsemane. 

But  my  face  was  not  yet  set  homeward.  I  had  before 
me  a  journey  to  the  banks  of  the  Tigris.  I  intended  visit¬ 
ing  Nineveh  and  Babylon,  and  dropping  down  the  Eu¬ 
phrates  to  the  gulf,  where  I  hoped  to  find  a  steamer  to 
take  me  to  Madras,  or  to  Aden,  so  that  I  could  return  to 
Cairo,  and  thence  reach  Constantinople  in  the  autumn. 
My  route  \vas,  accordingly,  to  Damascus,  visiting  the 
sacred  places  of  northern  Palestine  in  the  way.  We 
therefore  made  our  farewell  visits  to  the  places  of  deep¬ 
est  interest,  and  ordered  our  men  to  be  ready  at  nine  in 
the  morning  for  the  grand  start. 

Father  Joseph  gave  to  Miriam  and  myself  separate 
certificates  of  our  accomplished  pilgrimage,  notwithstand¬ 
ing  he  knew  our  Protestantism,  and  he  positively  refused 
a  farthing  in  exchange.  It  was  the  last  courtesy  we  re¬ 
ceived  from  the  monks  in  Jerusalem,  and  in  character 
with  all  we  had  seen  of  them. 

Thus  ended  my  rest  in  Jerusalem. 

Think  not  lightly  of  this,  my  friend,  for  it  is  no  light 

14 


I 


314  THE  ONLY  GUIDE-BOOK. 

matter  to  have  seen  the  Holy  City.  I  hesitated  much 
before  I  visited  the  Holy  Land.  1  had  always  reasoned 
somewhat  in  this  way.  If  I  were  taught  that  the  Son  of 
God  descended  to  this  earth,  assuming  the  form  of  a 
child,  and  was  the  reputed  son  of  a  carpenter  in  an  Amer¬ 
ican  village ;  that  he  lived  here,  walked  these  streets, 
preached  at  these  corners,  slept  in  the  nights  on  the  hills 
of  Long  Island  and  New  Jersey,  and  was  finally  mobbed 
in  the  public  places,  tried  for  some  alleged  crime,  con¬ 
demned  and  executed  here  ;  if,  I  say,  all  this  were  taught 
me,  I  should  find  it  much  more  difficult  to  believe  than  I 
now  do  the  story  of  his  life  and  death  in  a  distant  land, 
over  which  tradition  and  history  have  cast  a  holy  ra¬ 
diance.  I  therefore  feared  much  that  when  I  had  walked 
the  streets  of  Jerusalem,  had  climbed  the  sides  of  Olivet, 
had  rested  in  the  garden  of  Gethsemane,  and  visited  the 
Holy  Sepulchre,  my  faith  in  the  divinity  of  the  Saviour, 
and  the  authenticity  of  his  mission,  might  be  seriously 
impaired. 

Far  otherwise  was  the  reality. 

Every  step  that  I  advanced  on  the  soil  of  Palestine 
offered  some  new  and  startling  evidence  of  the  truth  of 
the  sacred  story.  Every  hour  we  were  exclaiming  that 
the  history  must  be  true,  so  perfect  was  the  proof  before 
our  eyes.  The  Bible  was  a  new  book,  faith  in  which 
seemed  now  to  have  passed  into  actual  sight,  and  every 
page  of  its  record  shone  out  with  new,  and  a  thousand¬ 
fold  increased  lustre. 

The  Bible  had,  of  course,  been  our  only  guide-book. 
There  is  no  other — and  the  publication  of  another  will 
tend  materially  to  decrease  the  interest  of  travel  in  Syria. 
He  who  shall  visit  Holy  Soil  with  Murray’s  proposed  red 
book  in  his  hands,  will  know  nothing  of  the  keen  pleasure 
that  we  experienced  in  studying  out  for  ourselves  the  lo¬ 
calities  of  sacred  incident,  or  the  intense  delight  that 


BIBLE  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


315 


flashed  across  our  minds  when  we  found  those  startling 
confirmations  of  the  truth  of  the  story — startling,  be¬ 
cause  unexpected  and  wholly  original. 

Sitting  on  the  side  of  Mount  Moriah,  it  was  with  new 
force  we  read  that  exquisite  passage  in  the  46th  Psalm, 
“There  is  a  river  the  streams  whereof  shall  make  glad 
the  city  of  God,  the  holy  place  of  the  tabernacles  of  the 
Most  High  which  had  its  origin  unquestionably  in  the 
beautiful  fountain  that  springs  under  the  very  rocks  of 
Moriah,  the  site  of  the  ancient  temple,  more  beautiful 
just  here  where  fountains  are  so  rare,  and  whose  waters 
supplying  Siloam,  and  thence  “  going  softly”  down  the 
valley  of  Jehoshaphat,  have  in  all  times  been  the  type  of 
the  salvation  that  God  devised  in  Jerusalem  for  the  races 
of  men.  The  vision  of  Ezekiel,  which  promises  a  river 
flowing  out  of  the  sanctuary  to  the  eastward,  and  giving 
life  even  to  the  terrible  death  of  the  Dead  Sea,  was  start¬ 
ling  when  read  on  the  slope  of  Moriah,  whence  those 
sweet  waters  flow  down  the  valley  of  the  Kedron,  failing 
now,  indeed,  to  reach  the  far  depths  of  Engeddi,  much 
less  the  waters  of  the  Lake  of  Death. 

.That  mournful  procession,  in  which  David,  flying  from 
his  rebellious  son,  went  up  the  Mount  of  Olives,  weeping 
as  he  went,  was  before  us  like  a  picture  as  we  sat  outside 
the  gate  of  St.  Stephen,  among  the  Moslem  tombs,  and 
looked  into  the  valley  and  across  at  the  steep  slope  of  the 
hill  of  the  Lord’s  ascension.  Right  well  we  knew  what 
the  passage  meant,  which  likened  the  guardianship  of  the 
Father  to  the  watch  kept  by  the  mountains  around  Jeru¬ 
salem,  when  we  saw  the  city,  set  on  a  hill  itself,  yet  com¬ 
manded  on  the  north,  east,  south,  and  west  by  much 
higher  hills,  over  whose  summits  the  blue  sky  curves 
downward  with  that  close  embrace  that  one  might  well 
expect  from  the  heavens  above  the  city  of  the  Sepulchre. 

With  these  thoughts,  new  and  fresh,  and  crowding  on 


316 


THE  DEPARTURE. 


our  minds  every  hour,  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that 
we  were  willing  to  linger  in  Jerusalem,  even  after  we  had 
visited  every  one  of  its  interesting  points  again  and 
agrain.  I  should  never  weary  of  that  walk  over  the 
Mount  of  Olives  to  Bethany,  if  I  walked  it  every  day 
until  the  sky  opened  above  me,  as  it  opened  above  the 
Lord.  I  should  never  satisfy  my  thirst  for  the  waters  of 
Siloam,  if  I  drank  them  daily,  and  were  forbidden  ever¬ 
more  even  the  golden  wine  of  Lebanon.  I  shall  never 
cease  in  my  soul  to  visit  with  pilgrim  footsteps,  day  by 
day,  the  Sepulchre  of  the  Saviour  of  men. 

But  the  day  appointed  for  my  departure  at  length  ar¬ 
rived.  It  was  a  Monday  morning.  On  Sunday  evening 
I  found  my  way  to  a  little  chapel,  where  I  heard  a  ser¬ 
mon  from  Dr.  Bonar.  He  had  preached  two  successive 
Sunday  evenings  in  a  sort  of  lecture-room,  belonging 
to  the  English  mission.  His  ideas  on  the  second  coming 
of  Christ  to  walk  those  streets,  and  establish  the  throne 
of  David  on  Mount  Zion,  which  we  were  then  seated 
upon,  if  I  did  not  fully  coincide  in  them,  were  neverthe¬ 
less  eloquent,  and  interesting  just  then  and  there. 

Early  on  Monday  morning,  the  court-yard  of  the  house 
of  Antonio  presented  a  busy  appearance.  Piles  of  tents, 
boxes,  canteens,  and  light  baggage,  lay  on  the  pavement, 
which  was  otherwise  covered  with  a  mixed  crowd  of 
Arabs  and  townsmen,  Jews,  Turks,  and  Christians,  all 
wishing  to  dispose  of  some  few  more  relics  of  holy  places, 
and  extract  a  few  more  piastres  from  the  departing  Hajjis. 

Abd-el-Atti  came  in  for  instructions,  and  I  directed  him 
to  pitch  the  tents  at  Beitin,  the  ancient  Bethel,  for  I  de¬ 
sired  to  sleep  there,  if  perchance  I  too  might  dream  of 
angels.  It  was  but  a  short  distance  from  Jerusalem,  and 
I  therefore  delayed  our  own  departure  till  nearly  noon. 

Moreright  had  decided  to  go  with  us  for  the  entire 
journey,  but  could  not  leave  till  later  in  the  day,  having 


A  MISSIONARY. 


317 


an  appointment  with  some  of  the  English  missionaries. 
The  baggage-mules  were  loaded  and  despatched.  Ferrajj, 
in  all  the  glory  of  a  new  suit,  white  shirt  and  drawers, 
flaming-red  tarbouche,  black  face  and  shining  teeth,  led 
the  van  on  his  white  horse.  W e  still  lingered  in  our  own 
hired  house  on  the  Via  Dolorosa,  reluctant  to  go. 

An  old  gentleman,  Mr.  Roberts,  an  American,  who 
has  taken  up  his  residence  in  Jerusalem,  called  to  see  us 
while  we  stood  waiting.  His  business  was  independent 
Bible  distribution.  He  is  a  Rew  Englander  who,  without 
money  or  friends,  has  wandered  up  the  Mediterranean  to 
Malta,  Constantinople,  and  finally  to  Jerusalem,  working 
his  way  slowly,  and  distributing  the  Bible,  in  the  lan¬ 
guages  of  the  countries  he  visits,  of  which  he  knows 
nothing  himself.  It  may  seem  a  sort  of  monomania. 
Perhaps  it  is.  But  I  commend  him  to  all  travelers  as  a 
good,  noble  old  man,  who  is  content  to  die  at  Jerusalem 
in  this  work  to  which  he  has  sacrificed  himself,  and  I  com¬ 
mend  him  to  all  at  home  who  desire  to  aid  a  work  so 
carried  on,  independent  of  mission  boards,  by  a  volun¬ 
teer  who  commands  the  respect  and  esteem  of  the  mis¬ 
sionaries  wherever  he  has  traveled.  He  was  sustained  in 
Jerusalem  entirely  by  mission  assistance,  and  it  was  not 
till  after  I  left,  that  I  knew  these  facts  in  his  history,  and 
that  he  would  have  been  willing  to  receive  money  in  aid 
of  his  work.  He  never  hinted  at  it  in  any  way,  though 
we  saw  him  almost  daily  while  there. 

At  length  we  pushed  through  the  noisy  crowd  in  the 
court-yard.  The  horses  stood  in  the  Via  Dolorosa,  impa¬ 
tient  to  be  away.  Mohammed  threw  up  his  fine  head  and 
snuffed  the  air  as  if  anxious  to  be  off  over  the  Hills. 

I  lifted  Miriam  into  her  saddle,  and  she  led  off,  down 
the  Via  Dolorosa,  around  the  corner,  and  up  to  the  Da¬ 
mascus  gate,  out  of  which  we  rode,  with  bowed  heads, 
and  in  silence. 


318 


THE  LAST  GAZE. 


Passing  the  tomb  of  Helena,  and  crossing  the  extreme 
upper  part  of  the  valley  of  the  Kedron,  we  ascended  the 
slope  of  Mount  Scopus,  which  commands  Jerusalem  on 
the  north-east.  Pausing  on  the  summit,  we  looked  for  the 
last  time  on  the  domes  and  minarets  of  the  City  of  the 
great  King. 

Seeing  nothing  of  Abd-el-Atti,  who  had  waited  in  the 
city  to  accompany  Moreright,  who  was  detained  by  his 
engagement,  we  dismounted  and  sat  on  the  ground.  The 
hill  was  covered  with  hundreds  of  memorial  heaps  of 
stone.  For  it  is,  as  I  have  before  remarked,  an  oriental 
custom,  that  has  a  remote  origin,  to  heap  up  a  pile  of 
stones  on  a  hill-top  which  commands  the  first  or  the  last 
view  of  any  place  of  devout  pilgrimage. 

I,  too,  heaped  up  my  pile  of  stones.  Miriam,  too, 
gathered  her’s  together  by  mine.  Whitely  followed  the 
example. 

Then  we  sat  down,  each  by  his  monument,  and  looked 
back  at  Jerusalem,  and  sought,  with  earnest  eyes,  to  fix 
that  view  in  our  memories  forever. 

The  soft  wind  played  with  my  hair  and  beard,  for  I  had 
even  taken  off  my  tarbouclie.  Never  was  wind  so  holy 
on  my  forehead  as  that  breeze  which  came  down  over  the 
hills  of  Galilee.  So  sitting  there,  I  looked  at  the  domes 
of  the  Holy  City. 

If  I  forget  thee,  O  Jerusalem,  let  my  right  hand  for¬ 
get  her  cunning ! 

No  tears  came  now  to  obscure  that  gaze.  With  eager 
eyes,  I  took  in  all  the  prospect,  the  Mount  of  Olives,  the 
Mount  of  the  Temple,  Mount  Zion,  and  the  dome  above 
the  Sepulchre.  With  beating  hearts,  we  yearned  toward 
the  city,  even  as  the  11  tribes  of  the  wandering  foot”  yearn 
toward  their  fathers’  temple. 

There  were  a  few  white-robed  women  sitting  under  the 
olive-trees  near  the  Damascus  gate,  but  there  was  no 


THE  LAST  GAZE. 


319 


other  sign  of  life  anywhere.  It  might  have  been  a  city 
of  the  dead  for  aught  that  we  could  see.  A  city  of  the 
mighty  dead  it  certainly  was.  Not  as  when  Titus  saw  it 
from  the  same  spot,  with  fortresses  and  palaces  crowning 
its  heights,  the  gold  of  the  temple  flashing  in  the  noonday 
sun,  and  millions  of  the  children  of  Abraham  thronging  to 
the  walls  that  inclosed  the  hill  of  his  sacrifice,  and  rending 
the  air  with  their  shouts  of  defiance  !  Nor  as  when,  over 
the  smoking  ruins  of  the  temple,  right  through  the  rent 
vail  of  the  holy  of  holies,  the  destroying  barbarians 
marched  to  the  assault  on  Zion,  and  the  wail  of  the  per¬ 
ishing  children  of  Judah  and  Benjamin  went  up  before 
God.  Not  as  then,  indeed. 

Nor  as  when,  in  later  ages,  the  Christian  hosts  rushed 
in  behind  the  frowning  battlements  of  the  city,  when  the 
rent  air  quivered  with  the  cry  of  “  Holy  Cross,”  the  ring 
of  steel  on  armor,  shouts  of  triumph,  and  agonizing  wails, 
that  reached  the  ear  of  the  false  prophet  in  hell,  and  made 
him  writhe,  even  in  the  pit,  as  the  slaughtered  hosts  of 
Ins  followers  came  rushing  dowm  to  curse  him. 

Not  as  then,  indeed  ! 

The  silent  city  lay  calm  and  majestic  in  the  sunshine 
that  fell  on  church  and  dome,  with  a  gentle,  even  a  loving, 
though  sad  smile.  Around  the  walls  there  were  alternate 
lights  and  shades,  the  semblance  of  the  memories  that 
clustered  there,  to  gild  or  to  darken  it. 

At  length  we  mounted,  and  made  as  though  we  would 
go  on,  but  a  cloud  came  over  the  sun,  and  we  could  not 
leave  Jerusalem  thus.  I  waited  till  the  full  sunlight,  gor¬ 
geous  at  high  noon,  lay  bright  on  wall  and  church,  on 
castle  and  minaret,  and  brightest  of  all,  on  the  spot  hal¬ 
lowed  by  the  last  footsteps  of  the  ascending  Lord,  and 
then  I  turned  my  back  on  the  city,  and  saw  it  no  more. 

An  hour  from  the  summit  of  Scopus,  where  the  Damas¬ 
cus  road,  which  we  were  traveling,  ran  through  a  rocky 


320 


HONESTY  OF  ARABS. 


valley,  we  dismounted  again,  and  waited  for  Moreright 
and  Abd-el-Atti.  We  left  the  luncheon  with  them,  and 
were  beginning  to  feel  the  need  of  it.  I  threw  the  pile 
of  water-proof  coats  on  the  ground,  under  the  shadow  of 
a  high  rock,  by  way  of  a  seat  for  Miriam,  and  Whitely 
and  myself  practiced  pistol-shots  at  stones,  while  the 
horses  strolled  around  and  nibbled  the  scanty  grass. 

Again  we  mounted  and  rode  on. 

An  hour  later  I  missed  the  bundle  of  wTater-proof 
which  I  ought  to  have  replaced  behind  my  saddle. 

By  this  time  we  had  overtaken  Betuni,  who  had  left 
with  the  baggage  in  the  morning,  but  had  been  asleep, 
with  his  donkey,  along  the  road-side,  waiting  for  us.  I 
sent  him  back  with  my  horse,  and  I  walked  on  behind  his 
donkey,  which,  the  moment  his  master  was  gone,  began 
to  show  all  of  the  devil  that  a  donkey  can  be  supposed 
to  have  in  him.  Now  he  would  go,  and  now  he  wouldn’t. 
Here  he  took  a  steep  hill-side,  and  there  he  plunged  down 
an  apparently  impassable  wall  of  rocks.  I  never  have 
seen  the  equal  of  that  donkey  or  his  master.  I  gave  him 
up  in  ten  minutes,  begged  Whitely  to  “  surround  him”  on 
his  horse,  and  I  trotted  forward  on  foot,  while  a  cold  sun¬ 
set  shed  a  red  light  on  the  barren  hills  that  surrounded 
me. 

Betuni  found  the  bundle  lying  open  as  I  left  it.  A 
dozen  persons  had  passed  it :  no  one  had  touched  it.  In 
contrast  with  this  instance  of  Arab  honesty  I  have  often 
had  occasion  to  remark  that  in  Christian  Italy,  within  ten 

miles  of  Naples,  this  same  bundle  was  cut  off  from  my 

* 

carriage  and  stolen  in  broad  daylight.  I  have  no  hesita¬ 
tion  in  saying  that  it  is  safer,  so  far  as  stealing  goes,  to 
travel  in  Moslem  countries  than  in  America  or  Europe. 
The  man  who  trusts  an  Arab  will  never  be  deceived.  A 
saddle  hung  up  on  a  tree  by  the  road-side  is  never 
touched  till  the  owner  comes  to  reclaim  it,  if  it  be  months 


BEEROTH. 


321 


afterward.  In  Damascus,  in  the  most  crowded  bazaar,  I 
saw  one  day  an  article  of  value,  which  some  one  had 
dropped,  lying  in  the  path,  where  thousands  passed  it. 
Every  man,  woman,  and  child  turned  aside  and  avoided 
treading  on  it  or  touching  it.  It  would  lie  there  till  even¬ 
ing  ;  and  if  the  owner  did  not  come  for  it,  it  would 
then  be  taken  to  the  nearest  mosk  and  hung  up  till  he 
claimed  it. 

When  Betuni  returned,  it  was  late,  and  the  sun  was 
going  westward ;  but  no  appearance  was  yet  to  be  seen 
of  Abd-el-Atti,  Moreright,  or  the  luncheon.  We  reached 
Bireli,  the  ancient  Beeroth,  one  of  the  cities  of  the  Gib- 
eonites  (Joshua,  ix.  17),  and  now  a  village  on  a  hill¬ 
side,  near  which  is  a  fine  fountain  of  water  from  which 
(Beer),  it  derived,  and  since  keeps,  its  name.  In  a  small 
building  over  the  fountain,  which  may  once  have  been  a 
praying-place,  we  found  shelter  from  the  piercing  wind. 
The  women  came  out  here  for  water.  One  or  two  of 
them  were  tall,  slender,  and  beautiful  girls,  who  laughed 
and  talked  with  ns  as  freely  as  coquettes  at  home,  and 
quite  as  gracefully.  The  red  sunset  w*as  fading  from  the 
hills,  when  at  last  we  saw  our  horsemen  crossing  the 
ridge  to  the  southward,  accompanied  by  two  others,  who 
proved  to  be  Dr.  Bonar  and  an  English  gentleman  in  his 
company.  They  had  despatched  their  tents,  in  the  morn¬ 
ing,  with  instructions  to  their  servants  to  pitch  them 
where  ours  were,  and  then  had  come  out  of  the  city  and 
accidentally  fallen  in  with  Moreright. 

We  did  not  stop  for  luncheon  now.  Bethel  was  so 
near  us  that  we  concluded  to  wait  for  Hajji  Mohammed’s 
dinner,  and  pushed  on,  cold  and  hungry,  until  we  came 
among  the  vast  boulders  that  cover  the  land  around  the 
site  of  Bethel.  Jacob’s  only  trouble  must  have  been  in 
finding  a  stone  small  enough  for  a  pillow.  Immense  rocks, 
of  every  conceivable  shape,  covered  the  ground  in  all 

14* 


322 


BETHEL. 


directions.  Off  the  road,  to  the  right,  were  some  large 
ruins,  which  the  Arabs  called  Bourg  Bethel,  but  which 
we  did  not  go  to  examine,  for  darkness  was  fast  overtak¬ 
ing  us,  and  our  tents  were  nowhere  visible. 

We  rode  on,  every  white  rock  in  the  twilight  deceiving 
us ;  and  at  length  it  became  perfect  night,  with  a  moon 
lying  on  the  western  hills,  and  magnifying  every  stone  in 
the  path  by  its  dim  silver  rays. 

I  saw  by  Abd-el-Atti’s  manner  that  the  disappearance 
of  the  tents  was  not  so  much  a  matter  of  surprise  to  him 
as  it  was  to  me.  I  began  to  suspect  that  there  was  a  de¬ 
sign  on  some  one’s  part  to  disobey  orders,  and  lengthen 
the  journey  of  to-day  to  shorten  that  of  to-morrow.  By 
eight  o’clock  we  were  tolerably  well  fatigued.  We  had 
been  in  the  saddle  eight  hours,  with  very  little  rest. 

The  moonlight  on  the  hills  and  in  the  valleys  made  it 
exceedingly  difficult  for  us  to  advance  rapidly.  Moham¬ 
med,  who  had  been  ridden  hard  in  the  morning,  began 
to  show  symptoms  of  weariness,  though  with  the  perti¬ 
nacity  of  his  Arab  blood  he  set  his  foot  down  firmly  on 
the  road  and  moved  steadily  and  cautiously  forward. 
The  path  now  led  down  precipitous  hill-sides  into  deep 
gorges,  winding  hither  and  thither  until  I  was  completely 
puzzled  and  lost  all  idea  of  the  country  through  which  I 
was  going.  Abd-el-Atti  had  fallen  behind,  and  at  length, 
as  we  rode  through  a  grove  of  olive-trees  in  the  bottom 
of  a  ravine,  I  missed  him  entirely. 

I  shouted,  but  there  was  no  reply  except  the  echo 
which  came  back  from  the  side  of  the  mountain  opposite 
“  Ya  Abd-el-Atti !” 

It  rang  along  the  ravine,  and  came  back  in  two,  three, 
and  four  sharp  echoes,  then  all  was  silent  in  the  moon¬ 
light  that  fell  like  a  glory  on  the  flashing  leaves  of  the 
olive-trees,  but  the  dragoman  did  not  answer. 

I  fired  a  pistol — another — and  another.  The  sound 


NO  TENTS. 


323 


went  rattling  down  the  ravine  in  which  I  was  waiting, 
and  the  next  instant  Whitely,  who  had  ridden  on  with 
the  party,  came  back  at  a  gallop,  not  doubting  that  I  had 
killed  at  least  two  Bedouins,  and  hoping  that  there  was 
one  more  of  the  same  sort  left  for  him. 

As  he  joined  me,  I  heard  Abd-el-Atti’s  pistol  far  off  on 
the  other  side  of  the  ravine.  I  fired  again,  and  he  an¬ 
swered  again.  He  was  lost,  and  but  for  my  pause  would 
have  gone  on  to  Cesarea,  on  the  coast  of  the  Mediter¬ 
ranean. 

I  began  to  think  that  we  were  lost  as  well.  Rejoining 
the  party  who  were  waiting  for  us,  we  held  a  council, 
for  our  position  became  serious.  Miriam  was  nearly  worn 
out,  and  Whitely  and  myself  confessed  to  fatigue.  I  had 
walked  for  an  hour,  to  relieve  my  poor  horse.  Betuni 
was  positive  that  we  were  right  and  the  tents  were  be¬ 
fore  us.  I  questioned  Abd-el-Atti.  He  said  they  were 
certainly  ahead  of  us. 

“  How  did  he  know  ?” 

He  did  not  know — only  they  must  be — where  else 
could  they  be  ? 

Our  English  friends  were  in  more  trouble  than  we,  for 
two  of  their  party,  relying  on  our  tents  being  at  Beitin, 
had  remained  in  Jerusalem  two  hours  later  and  were  yet 
behind  us. 

Betuni  was  sullen.  I  cross-examined  him,  but  the  dog 
knew  that  I  had  begun  to  suspect  some  one,  and  if  he 
were  in  the  secret,  would  not  confess  it.  Abd-el-Atti  half 
intimated,  in  English,  which  Betuni  did  not  understand, 
that  he,  Betuni,  had  ordered  the  tents  on  to  Ain  Har- 
ameeyeh,  to  save  his  mules  a  long  journey  the  next  day, 
to  Nablous. 

I  looked  around  for  a  large  olive-tree  that  would  hold 
a  man  of  Betuni’s  small  size,  and,  seeing  one  near  at  hand, 
collared  the  little  fellow,  dragged  him  off  his  donkey  to- 


324 


HANGING  BETUNI. 


ward  the  tree,  and  ordered  him  to  pray  then  and  for  the 
last  time. 

He  looked  in  vain  for  help  from  Whitely,  and  the  rest 
had  gone  on  to  the  foot  of  the  hill,  not  knowing  of  our 
delay.  Down  went  Betuni  on  his  knees,  and  prayed,  but 
to  me. 

He  swore  by  all  the  commandments  in  the  decalogue 
and  the  beards  of  all  the  prophets  and  false  prophets,  that 
he  did  not  know  where  the  tents  were,  only  he  knew,  of 
a  certainty,  that  they  must  be  ahead  of  us. 

I  turned  away,  half  doubting,  and  walked  on  by  the 
side  of  Whitely’ s  horse,  he  and  Abd-el-Atti  following  and 
grumbling  to  each  other  in  bad  Syrian  Arabic  which  I  but 
half  understood. 

The  road  was  terrible.  Oftentimes  it  led  through  nar¬ 
row  rock  fissures,  where  I  was  afraid  my  horse  would  fall 
over  on  me,  for  I  was  walking  and  he  following,  like  a 
dog,  behind  me.  The  moon  was  on  the  edge  of  the  hills, 
so  that,  at  times,  we  went  in  deep  shade,  but  our  footing 
was  better  at  such  times  than  when  the  delusive  light  of 
the  moon  lay  on  our  rocky  path. 

Wild  hills  surrounded  and  hemmed  us  in.  It  was  a 
scene  for  ghostly  imaginations,  as  we  pressed  on,  a  silent 
company,  along  the  winding  pathway  down  the  hills. 
That  pathway,  doubtless,  in  long  gone  ages,  he  who  had 
no  home,  traveled,  in  nights  like  this,  from  Galilee.  That 
pathway  hosts  of  Homan  soldiers  trod,  bands  of  Crusad¬ 
ers,  many  foot-weary  pilgrims. 

I  looked  into  the  gloom  on  each  side  to  see  the  shades 
of  the  dead  reappearing,  for  every  bush  and  rock  seemed 
like  the  form  of  an  old  man,  gazing  at  our  curious  pro¬ 
cession. 

At  length  we  came  out  on  a  point  of  the  hill,  below 
which  there  was  yet  another  long  plunge  of  the  ravine 
down  which  we  had  been  coming  for  two  hours.  Far 


THE  TENTS  FOUND. 


325 


! 

below  us  we  saw  a  camp-fire  at  which  Betuni  grunted  his 
approval,  but  he  avoided  me.  I  was  not  sure  that  we 
had  not  hit  on  a  camp  of  Bedouins,  and  ordered  a  halt. 

A  pistol-shot  was  answered  by  the  unmistakable  ring 
of  Hajji  Mohammed’s  fowling-piece,  and  we  rode  on. 

It  was  ten  o’clock  when  we  reached  the  tents  at  Ain 
Harameeyeh.  This  spot  had  been  proposed  to  me  in  the 
morning,  and  I  had  expressly  forbidden  them  to  come 
to  it. 

Tired  out  as  I  was,  for  I  had  walked  by  my  poor 
horse  for  more  than  an  hour,  before  entering  the  tent  I 
called  dragoman,  cook,  servant,  and  muleteers  before  me, 
and  examined  them  seriatim.  But  no  one  ever  knew 
sharper  witnesses  in  a  police  court.  No  one  knew  how 
they  came  there,  and  no  one  could  tell  who  ordered  them 
to  come  there.  While  Abd-el-Atti  asserted  that  he  had 
given  the  orders  correctly,  the  entire  crowd  of  men  did 
not  deny  it,  but  still  somehow  understood  that  Ain 
Harimeeyeh  was  the  camp  ground,  and  had  come  here. 
The  tents  of  the  Scottish  party  were  here  also,  and  I  en¬ 
deavored  to  learn  how  they  were  induced  to  come  on, 
but  they  were  as  silent  as  the  rocks  of  Beitin,  and  I  gave 
it  up,  contenting  myself  with  a  solemn  assurance  that  if 

(there  occurred  another  instance  of  disobedience  to  or¬ 
ders,  especially  in  the  matter  of  selecting  the  place  for 
the  camp  at  night,  I  would  thrash  the  responsible  party 
as  he  never  dreamed  of  being  thrashed,  and  if  I  could 
not  find  who  was  responsible  I  would  whip  them  all,  from 
first  to  last,  whether  there  was  a  governor  at  hand  to  do 
it  or  I  had  to  do  it  myself. 


19. 

8 i) i I o I),  Si?  eel)  eh),  sipi)  SiityqHj). 


We  left  Ain  Harimeeyeh  at  a  quarter  to  nine,  a.m.  The 
road  lay  up  the  valley  for  one  hour,  when  we  arrived  at 
a  point  where  a  broad  plain  stretched  off  to  the  right. 
Sinjil  was  on  the  hill-side  over  us  to  the  left,  and  turning 
down  to  the  east  we  made  a  detour  from  the  direct  road 
to  Nablous,  for  the  purpose  of  visiting  Seilun,  the  an¬ 
cient  Shiloh.  Forty  minutes  from  Sinjil,  passing  Turmus 
Aya  on  the  plain,  one  of  the  most  beautiful  plains  in 
Syria,  and  crossing  the  hill  which  bounds  it  on  the  north, 
we  arrived  at  a  small  square  building  known  to  the  mod¬ 
ern  inhabitants  of  the  country  as  the  Mosk  of  Settein 
(the  sixty — not  Seilun  as  Dr.  Robinson  understood  it). 
It  is  a  white  stone  building  about  thirty  feet  square. 
The  broken  pieces  of  three  Corinthian  columns  lie  inside 
of  it,  and  an  urn  between  two  wreaths,  over  the  doorway, 
seems  indicative  of  a  sepulchral  purpose.  The  outside 
of  the  walls  has  been  inclosed  in  a  sloping  fortress  of 
heavy  stone-work,  showing  that  it  has,  at  some  period, 
been  converted  into  a  fortress,  but  when  or  why,  or 
whence  its  name,  I  could  not  in  any  way  ascertain. 

The  ruins  of  Shiloh  are  but  a  little  distance  beyond, 
but  of  these  nothing  definite  remains.  The  chief  evi¬ 
dence  of  the  presence  of  a  great  city,  in  former  days, 
is  found  in  the  tombs  which  are  hewn  in  the  rocks  about 


MOUNT  HERMON. 


327 


here,  and  which  are  now  open  and  empty.  The  location 
of  the  place  is  tolerably  certain. 

In  the  last  chapter  of  Judges  we  find  the  direction 
given  to  the  Benjamites,  to  catch  wives  for  themselves  of 
the  daughters  of  Shiloh  when  they  danced  at  the  yearly 
feast ;  and  there  Shiloh  is  located  “  on  the  north  side  of 
Bethel,  on  the  east  side  of  the  highway  that  goeth 
up  from  Bethel  to  Shechem,  and  on  the  south  of  Leb- 
onah.”  This  appears  to  be  the  spot.  The  ground,  in 
all  directions,  was  filled  with  the  small  cubes  that  formed 
ancient  pavements.  In  one  ploughed  piece  of  ground 
they  were  more  plenty  than  soil. 

Three  fourths  of  an  hour  from  Shiloh  we  reached  Khan 
Luban,  where  we  struck  the  direct  road  again,  and 
fifteen  minutes  beyond  this  the  village  of  Luban,  which 
is,  doubtless,  the  ancient  Lebonah  above  referred  to. 

In  the  afternoon,  having  passed  Sawieh,  we  accom¬ 
plished  the  difficult  ascent  of  a  high  ridge,  one  hour  from 
Luban,  from  which  we  had  a  view  before  us  up  a  long 
and  broad  valley  that  came  down  from  Galilee,  and 
away  beyond  it,  white  and  glorious  in  the  sky,  the 
snowy  summit  of  Mount  Hermon.  Jebel-es-Sheik,  the 
sheik  of  mountains  as  we  called  it,  and  as  the  name  in 
fact  signifies,  was  from  that  day  never  out  of  our  sight 
for  an  entire  day  during  more  than  a  month  of  travel. 
It  looked  down  on  our  sleep  every  night  in  all  the 
northern  part  of  Syria,  and  we  were  on  the  west,  south, 
east,  and  north  of  it.  In  commanding  beauty  it  equals 
any  mountain  I  have  seen.  How  we  became  acquainted 
with  the  dews  of  Hermon  will  hereafter  appear. 

We  rode  up  the  valley,  and  at  five  o’clock  reached  the 
point  where  the  valley  of  Kablous  comes  into  it  from  the 
west  and,  crossing  it,  continues  on  to  the  east.  The 
south-west  corner  of  this  intersection  is  occupied  by 
Mount  Gerizim,  the  north-west  by  Mount  Ebal.  They 


328 


JACOB’S  WELL. 


are  on  the  opposite  sides  of  the  valley  of  ISTablous,  but  on 
the  same  side  of  the  valley  which  comes  down  from 
Galilee. 

Mount  Gerizim  falls  steeply  to  the  valley  level,  but  be¬ 
fore  it  quite  reaches  it  slopes  off  a  little.  In  this  slope, 
not  quite  on  the  valley  level,  is  the  well  of  J acob,  of  which, 
and  of  the  woman  of  Samaria,  every  reader  knows  the 
story.  We  reached  it  at  five  o’clock,  and  dismounted  to 
examine  it.  It  was  formerly  a  deep  well,  of  which  the 
opening  was  vaulted  over  in  a  small  chamber  under  the 
surface  of  the  ground.  A  few  weeks  before  our  arrival 
this  vault  had  fallen  in,  and  the  stones  had  jammed  in  the 
mouth  of  the  well,  closing  it  up  entirely,  so  that  it  would 
require  laborers  and  a  day’s  work  to  open  it. 

But  the  well  itself  is  sufficiently  located,  nor  can  there 
be  any  doubt  that  this  is  the  well  which  Jacob  dug,  and 
which  Christ  hallowed  by  his  presence  and  by  the  com¬ 
parison  of  the  water  with  that  living  water  that  he  could 
give. 

I  had  never  before  understood  how  it  happened  that 
Christ  waited  at  a  well,  as  he  did,  while  his  disciples  went 
into  the  city  to  buy  meat,  but  here,  on  the  ground,  it  was 
very  plain.  He,  in  fact,  could  not  have  done  otherwise. 

He  was  traveling  from  Jerusalem  to  Galilee.  The  direct 
road  was  up  this  valley.  To  go  to  Shechem,  the  disciples 
must  go  up  the  cross  valley  and  return  to  the  same  spot 
again.  He,  therefore,  sat  down  here  until  they  returned, 
since  there  was  no  occasion  for  him  to  walk  a  mile  or  more 
and  back  again. 

In  regard  to  the  objection,  that  the  woman  of  Samaria 
would  not  have  come  to  such  a  distant  well  for  water,  Dr. 
Robinson  has  well  remarked  that  the  statement  is  not  that 
she  came  from  the  city.  She  might  have  been  working 
in  the  neighborhood,  or  even  living  there.  She  went  into 
the  city  only  to  tell  her  story,  or  she  might  have  come  to 


JACOB’S  WELL. 


329 


this  ancient  well  of  Jacob  from  a  peculiar  love  or  venera¬ 
tion  for  its  waters,  even  from  the  city.  A  few  rods  from 
the  well  was  a  small  Mohammedan  wely,  or  dome,  which 
marks  the  site  of  the  tomb  of  Joseph,  a  much  more  prob¬ 
able  place  than  in  the  mosk  at  Hebron,  for  without  doubt 
this  is  the  parcel  of  ground  which  was  bought  from  the 
father  of  Shechem,  and  which  Jacob  gave  to  Joseph. 
Here  the  body  that  Tvas  cast  into  the  pit  and  rescued  for 
captivity,  that  refused  the  soft  embraces  of  the  wife  of 
Potiphar  and  rested  in  the  arms  of  Asenath,  that  was 
clothed  in  the  purple  of  Egyptian  royalty  and  throned 
over  the  greatest  nation  of  the  world,  that  was  embalmed 
and  kept  in  a  stately  sepulchre  until  the  exodus  of  his 
children,  and  then  borne  up  and  down  the  desert,  now 
almost  finding  its  desired  repose  by  Abraham  and  Jacob, 
now  resting  on  the  shore  of  the  salt  sea,  and  now  wander¬ 
ing  among  the  mountains  of  Moab,  here  that  body  found 
its  coveted  rest. 

Here,  in  later  years,  the  soft  air  of  the  valley  heard 
those  low  and  musical  tones  that  echo  still  on  all  the 
plains  of  Holy  Land,  in  those  words  that  the  winds  whis¬ 
per  on  Ebal  and  Gerizim,  on  Himmalayeh  and  Andes,  the 
words  of  sublime  faith  and  perfect  adoration,  “  God  is  a 
Spirit,  and  they  that  worship  him  must  worship  him  in 
spirit  and  in  truth.” 

We  rode  up  the  cross  valley,  as  I  have  called  it,  to  the 
city  of  Nablous,  which  lies  a  mile  or  more  from  the  well 
of  Jacob,  covering  probably  part  of,  if  not  all,  the  site  of 
Shechem. 

Mount  Ebal  was  on  our  right,  and  Gerizim  on  our 
left,  and  in  the  front  of  each,  where  the  valley  narrowed 
to  the  least  width,  was  a  platform,  natural,  indeed,  but 
capable  of  holding  a  hundred  thousand  persons,  as  if  ex¬ 
pressly  arranged  for  the  scene  of  blessing  and  cursing 
which  here  took  place. 


330 


A  DISCOVERY. 


But  there  was  another  discovery  that  we  made  just 
here,  which  was  of  startling  interest. 

When  Moses  had  brought  the  children  of  Israel  to  the 
banks  of  the  Jordan,  and  gave  them  his  last  commands  in 
the  valley  over-against  Beth-peor,  he  ordered,  among 
other  things,  that  scene  which  was  to  take  place  on  these 
mountains.  It  had  always  been  a  matter  of  curiosity  to 
me,  as  I  doubt  not  it  has  been  to  many  others,  that  Moses, 
who  had  never  been  in  the  land  of  Canaan,  should  yet 
have  made  such  an  exact  description  of  the  spot  in  which 
this  was  to  be  performed  : 

“  And  it  shall  come  to  pass,  when  the  Lord  thy  God 
hath  brought  thee  in  unto  the  land  whither  thou  goest  to 
possess  it,  that  thou  shalt  put  the  blessing  upon  Mount 
Gerizim,  and  the  curse  upon  Mount  Ebal.  Are  they  not 
on  the  other  side  Jordan,  by  the  way  where  the  sun 
goetli  down,  in  the  land  of  the  Canaanites,  which  dwell 
in  the  champaign  over-against  Gilgal,  beside  the  plains  of 
Moreh?”  (Deut.,  xi.  29.)  And  afterward  he  gave  them 
order  for  standing  by  tribes  on  opposite  sides  of  the  val¬ 
ley,  and  responding  to  each  other  in  the  words  of  blessing 
and  cursing.' 

And  now,  as  we  rode  up  the  narrow  pass  between  the 
hills,  we  looked  behind  us,  and  there,  right  down  the  val¬ 
ley,  which  went  sloping  away  thirty  miles  to  the  Jordan, 
lit  in  the  red  rays  of  the  setting  sun,  were  the  mountains 
of  Moab  and  the  summit  of  Pisgah. 

It  was  evident  that  the  very  words  of  the  great  law¬ 
giver  were  accompanied  by  a  gesture  of  his  hand  pointing 
them  to  Ebal  and  Gerizim,  at  the  head  of  that  valley,  and 
I  now  saw  how  he  was  led  to  select  them  as  the  place  for 
the  ceremony. 

Riding  up  the  valley,  we  entered  ISTablous,  and  threaded 
our  way  through  narrow  streets,  dismal,  and  crowded  with 
dismal-looking  people,  who  opened  their  eyes  in  astonish- 


NABLOUS. 


331 


ment  at  our  cavalcade.  We  passed  on  the  way  the  chief 
most,  which  is  an  ancient  Christian  church,  and  is  still 
stately  and  fine  in  appearance. 

Nablous,  the  ancient  Neapolis,  and  still  called  Naples 
by  the  natives,  has  now  about  ten  thousand  inhabitants, 
of  whom  none  possess  any  special  interest,  except  a  very 
small  number,  less  than  two  hundred,  the  last  representa¬ 
tives  of  the  Samaritans. 

We  rode  through  the  city,  from  east  to  west,  and  found 
the  tents  pitched  among  trees  on  the  west  side,  just  out 
of  the  gate.  On  a  low  housetop  near  the  gateway,  just 
before  passing  out,  I  saw  the  resident  governor,  sur¬ 
rounded  by  his  officers.  As  we  rode  up  he  bowed  po¬ 
litely,  and  I  paused  to  exchange  with  him  those  pleasant 
salutations  of  the  East,  which  more  than  any  other  inter¬ 
course  with  the  people,  attach  the  traveler  to  them. 

I  did  not  dismount,  as  he  was  considerably  higher  up 
than  I,  but  asking  him  at  what  hour  the  gates  were  closed 
for  the  night,  and  receiving  for  reply  that  they  were 
never  closed,  but  always  remained  open,  I  rode  on  to  the 
camp,  where  I  found  the  others  already  lying  on  a  pile  of 
baggage  and  carpets,  hastening  Hajji  Mohammed’s  slow 
progress. 

It  was  “  by  the  will  of  God,  whose  prophet  is  Moham¬ 
med,  ever  blessed,”  that  we  got  dinner  at  any  time.  Our 
pilgrim  cook  was  a  firm  fatalist.  If  dinner  was  to  be 
ready,  it  would  be  ready.  No  entreaties  or  threats 
could  persuade  him  to  move  along  any  whit  faster. 

The  only  tedious  hour  of  the  day  was  that  immediately 
after  arriving  at  the  camp  for  the  evening,  when  we  lay 
on  the  baggage,  still  cloaked  and  gloved,  with  whips  in 
hand,  as  if  the  halt  were  but  for  a  moment,  shouting 
at  cook,  servants,  and  dragoman  until  the  soup  was 
ready. 

Those  were  the  hours  of  Betuni’s  greatest  achieve- 


332 


EVENING  SCENE. 


ments.  Then  he  quarreled  with  the  horses,  and  growled 
at  the  Howajjies,  and  cursed  the  mules. 

That  afternoon  I  had  special  reason  for  looking  dubi¬ 
ously  at  him,  and  he  knew  it.  For  I  had  by  no  means 
given  up  the  idea  that  he  was  in  league  with  Abd-el- 
Atti  to  spoil  my  night’s  rest  at  Bethel. 

After  various  attempts  to  attract  my  attention,  by  ar¬ 
ranging  the  baggage,  bringing  the  books  I  usually  read  at 
that  time,  and  hinting  that  the  dinner  was  in  progress,  he 
at  length  burst  into  a  small  storm  of  rage  that  died  away 
in  hoarse  growls,  and  ended  with  a  rattling  thunder  of 
kicks  on  the  sides  of  his  extraordinary  donkey. 

A  fresh  breeze  of  wind,  coming  down  from  Mount 
Ebal,  strained  the  tent-cords  to  their  utmost  tension, 
swinging  the  canvas  to  and  fro  over  our  heads,  and  flash¬ 
ing  the  bright  flag  out  among  the  branches  of  the  trees. 
In  those  canvas  houses  little  we  cared  for  wind,  or  cold, 
or  storm,  so  the  coflee  were  good  and  the  tobacco  pure. 
The  iron  bedsteads  answered  well  for  sofas  on  which  to 
lounge  till  sleeping  time.  Dinner  over,  and  the  pipes 
alight,  we  always  placed  Miriam  on  one  of  these  lounges, 
rolled  up  in  shawls  if  the  weather  were  cool ;  then  the 
swift  hours  had  the  wings  of  pleasant  talk. 

Then  came  around  us,  brought  up  by  the  magician 
power  of  words,  single  words,  that  raised  the  dead  past 
to  living  presence,  all  the  forms,  and  faces,  and  scenery 
of  distant  lands.  It  were  vain  to  attempt  to  recount 
how  often  I  recalled  my  father’s  voice,  my  mother’s 
stories  to  her  child,  as  I  went  up  and  down  the  hills  of 
Terra  Santa ;  how  many  times  thought  went  back  to  the 
village  church — the  white  head  of  the  good  old  man,  my 
father,  in  the  pulpit,  his  clear  voice  reading  the  sublime 
Psalms  of  David,  or  praying  to  the  God  in  whose  pres¬ 
ence  he  now  sits ;  how  many  times  I  remembered  the 
twilight  in  our  home,  the  Sunday  evening  twilight  of  all 


A  VISIT  TO  THE  SAMARITANS. 


333 


others,  the  gathering  around  the  hearth,  the  story  of 
Joseph,  Samuel,  David,  the  hymn  of  peace — the  peace 
that  followed  after  the  hymn ! 

Many  and  difficult  have  been  our  various  paths  in  life. 
One  and  another  has  wandered  far  off,  over  seas  and  con¬ 
tinents.  Two  of  us  have  been  in  Hablous  ! 

On  this  same  spot  of  ground,  where  now  my  tents  are 
pitched,  my  brother  had  slept.  The  most  thrilling  idea 
that  took  possession  of  me  that  evening  was  this :  that 
two  of  those  boys  who  used,  of  a  Sunday  morning,  to  look 
up  with  earnest  eyes  to  their  father  in  the  pulpit  of  the 
old  white  meeting-house,  had  set  their  far-traveled  feet 
on  the  soil  of  the  Holy  Land,  in  the  foot-prints  of  the 
Lord. 

Moreright  interrupted  my  reveries,  by  proposing  to  go 
into  the  town  and  visit  the  Samaritans.  I  was  not  un¬ 
willing.  A  guide  appeared,  in  the  shape  of  an  attache  of 
the  mission  school  in  Hablous,  and  we  entered  the  open 
gateway  through  which  we  had  emerged  shortly  before. 
Silence  reigned.  The  narrow,  dark  streets  were  abso¬ 
lutely  deserted.  Ho  sign  of  life  Avas  visible;  nor  Avas 
there  Avindow  or  gleaming  fire,  or  any  thing  to  show  that 
it  Avas  not  a  city  of  ancient  days,  empty  and  desolate. 
As  Ave  advanced,  the  streets  grew  darker,  until  at  last  Ave 
were  in  the  very  blackness  of  darkness,  and  the  next  step 
plunged  us,  all  four,  in  a  deep  mud  hole,  where  Ave  paused 
to  hold  a  consultation. 

I  had,  as  usual,  a  piece  of  candle  in  my  pocket,  and 
plenty  of  matches.  A  flash  revealed  our  position.  The 
candle  burned  a  moment,  and  the  wind  then  dashed  it 
out.  But  Ave  advanced  under  a  dark  stone  arch,  into  a 
long  passage,  in  Avhich  the  Avind  howled  furiously,  emerg¬ 
ing  at  length  by  the  door  of  a  house  at  which  our  guide 
paused. 

A  knock  and  a  shout  brought  out  a  sad-looking  woman 


334 


SAMARITAN  SYNAGOGUE. 

and  a  fast-looking  boy.  They  let  us  in,  and  called  the 
rabbi  and  his  assistant  to  show  us  what  we  wished  to  see, 
the  Samaritan  synagogue. 

The  elder  rabbi  was  a  sharp  specimen,  with  an  eye  to 
the  tangible  and  useful.  No  speculating  German,  nor 
dreaming  American.  Not  he.  He  began  to  whisper  and 
mutter  bucksheesh  from  the  first  moment  of  our  acquaint¬ 
ance. 

He  led  u3  up  a  stairway  to  the  top  of  a  house,  across 
this,  and  into  an  open  place  like  a  small  portico.  Here  he 
demanded  that  we  should  take  off  our  shoes  ;  and  we,  of 
course,  complied  with  his  request. 

He  then  led  us  into  a  large,  low  room,  dark  as  Erebus, 
where  we  stood  in  silence,  while  he  scratched  two  or 
three  matches  on  the  wall  and  obtained  a  light.  By  this 
we  saw  that  on  the  side  of  the  room  there  was  a  niche, 
concealed  by  a  curtain  covered  with  curious  devices,  but 
no  intelligible  inscriptions. 

The  chief  object  of  this  visit  was  to  see  the  ancient 
copy  of  the  law  which  this  people  possess,  and  which  they 
profess  was  written  by  the  hands  of  Abishua,  the  son  of 
Phineas,  nearly  thirty-five  hundred  years  ago.  The  old 
man  demanded  a  bucksheesh,  as  the  preliminary.  I  de¬ 
clined,  and  promised  it  as  a  closing  ceremony.  After  a 
little  demurring,  he  at  length  consented,  and  brought  out 
two  immense  rolls  of  parchment,  in  cases.  They  were,  as 
usual,  on  rollers,  so  arranged  that  one  could  roll  the  page 
off  from  one  and  on  the  other  as  the  reading  proceeded. 
One  of  these  two  was  the  ancient  manuscript  in  question, 
and  the  other  a  more  modern  one. 

I  believe  some  travelers  have  been  disposed  to  regard 
this  manuscript  as  quite  as  old  as  the  seventh  or  eighth 
century  of  the  Christian  era.  I  formed  a  different  opin¬ 
ion.  I  think  it  scarcely  more  than  five  hundred,  if  it  be 
four  hundred  years  old.  I  saw  nothing  of  the  peculiar 


THE  SAMARITANS. 


335 


reverence  for  it  which  travelers  have  described.  On  the 
contrary,  when  I  handled  and  examined  it,  turning  over 
the  back  and  bending  the  parchment  in  my  hands  to  test 
its  probable  age,  the  old  rabbi  or  the  younger  offered  no 
objection,  but,  on  the  contrary,  seemed  anxious  about  the 
result  of  my  examination. 

They  showed  us  some  other  manuscripts  of  the  law,  of 
which  they  had  perhaps  ten  or  twelve  in  the  closet  behind 
the  curtain,  which  I  opened  and  examined.  They  would 
sell  moderns,  but  I  could  not  get  them  to  name  a  price 
for  the  old  one. 

The  old  rabbi  asked  earnestly  after  Samaritans  in  all 
lands.  There  seems  to  be  a  strong  mournful  anxiety  on 
the  part  of  this  miserable  remnant,  to  hear  of  others  on 
the  broad  earth’s  surface,  who  believe  in  the  worship  of 
God  on  Mount  Gerizim.  They  inquired  if  there  were 
any  Samaritans  in  America,  and  told  us  there  were  some 
in  France  and  England.  But  in  this  thev  were  deceived. 

Before  bidding  them  farewell,  I  asked  the  younger 
rabbi  to  read  to  me  from  the  old  manuscript  of  the  law. 
He  read  fluently.  I  desired  to  hear  but  one  part  of  the 
writing,  since  in  all  others  it  is  similar  to  the  Jewish  ver¬ 
sion.  In  the  portion  of  Exodus,  which  in  our  version  is 
the  twentieth  chapter,  I  found  the  Samaritan  addition  to 
the  Decalogue,  “Thou  shalt  worship  the  Lord  thy  God 
in  Mount  Gerizim.” 

There  are  now  no  remains  of  the  ancient  Samaritan 
temple  on  the  mountain.  Later  structures  probably  dis¬ 
placed  the  older,  and  all  alike  have  disappeared.  Never¬ 
theless  the  Samaritans  still  regard  the  temple  site  as  holy, 
and  worship  with  their  faces  toward  it.  There  are  less 
than  two  hundred  of  them,  as  I  learned  in  Nablous,  and 
probably  no  others  in  the  world.  These  few  retain  the 
ancient  customs,  and  offer  their  annual  sacrifices  on 
Gerizim. 


336 


SHUT  IN. 


/ 


Our  bucksheesh  on  leaving  was  not  satisfactory  to  the 
rabbi.  I  was  sorry,  but  confident  that  it  would  have 
been  no  more  so  if  ten  times  as  great,  I  bade  him  good¬ 
night,  and  we  moved  down  the  narrow  streets  now  lit  by 
the  moon.  As  we  approached  the  gateway,  still  some 
hundred  feet  distant,  we  saw  its  huge  valves  swing  shut, 
and  when  we  reached  it  all  was  silent  and  deserted. 

It  was  a  very  neat  trick,  but  it  did  not  succeed. 

I  shouted  for  the  guard,  but  no  guard  came.  Then  I 
hammered  on  the  guard-house,  and  two  soldiers  made 
themselves  visible,  rubbing  their  eyes  as  if  just  aroused 
from  sleep. 

I  did  not  speak  to  them,  lest  my  dignity  should  thereby 
suffer  in  their  estimation.  I  addressed  our  guide,  “  Tell 
them  I  am  Braheem  Pasha,  an  American,  and  if  the  gate 
is  not  opened  I  shall  send  for  the  governor  himself  to  let 
me  out.” 

The  guide  himself  seemed  astounded  at  the  dignity  of 
the  man  he  was  leading  about,  who  thus  talked  of  send¬ 
ing  for  a  governor  to  open  the  doors  of  the  city.  He  re¬ 
peated  it,  with  illustrations  and  additions. 

The  soldiers  looked  into  my  face  inquiringly,  and  I  did 
a  little  English  vociferation,  which  produced  its  effect. 

“  What  does  he  say  ?”  said  a  sub-officer,  putting  his 
head  out  of  the  guard-house. 

“  He  says  he’s  a  sultan,”  replied  the  soldier. 

“  Perhaps  he  is,  and  you  ’ll  find  it  out  to-morrow,”  said 
the  sub,  springing  to  the  gate  and  swinging  it  open,  then 
bowing  very  respectfully  with  his  hand  on  his  forehead, 
closely  imitated  by  the  other  two,  who  began  to  be  fright¬ 
ened  about  their  feet.  It  was  worth  the  piastres  we  threw 
to  them,  as  we  went  out,  to  see  their  total  change  of  de¬ 
meanor. 

The  neighborhood  of  IsTablous  was  in  a  very  disturbed 
condition,  and  the  Pasha  of  Jerusalem,  who  had  been 


SAMARIA. 


337 


some  days  here  quelling  disturbances  among  the  surround¬ 
ing  Bedouins,  was  said  to  be  a  prisoner  in  the  city,  fear¬ 
ing  to  return  to  his  own  place. 

We  left  in  the  morning  for  Sebastieh,  the  ancient  Sa¬ 
maria,  distant  an  hour  and  a  half,  by  a  winding  and  pleas¬ 
ant  road  over  the  hills,  bordered  with  many  flowers.  We 
found  the  people  there  as  rude  as  they  are  accustomed 
to  be. 

The  site  of  Samaria  is  the  long  ridge  of  a  lofty  hill, 
commanding  a  magnificent  prospect.  On  the  western 
end  of  this  are  now  the  remains  of  a  great  gateway, 
which  is  visible  from  the  Mediterranean.  Thence  a  triple 
row  of  columns,  of  which  a  hundred  and  two  yet  stand, 
seems  to  have  swept  around  the  hill,  as  if  the  colonnade 
of  a  great  street.  It  is  eleven  hundred  paces  from  the 
western  gate  to  a  point  where  probably  the  eastern  gate 
stood.  Whether  the  colonnade  went  quite  around  the 
hill,  it  is  now  impossible  to  say.  Other  columns  and 
ruins  are  visible  in  various  parts  of  the  hill,  the  principal 
of  which  is  the  Church  of  St.  John  the  Baptist,  now 
used  as  a  mosk,  in  which  they  show  the  tomb  of  Neby 
Yeye,  which  being  interpreted  means,  the  Prophet  John. 
The  relics  of  knightly  days,  visible  in  the  walls  of  the 
church,  sufficiently  establish  the  date  of  this  building, 
which  is  a  stately  and  imposing  structure. 

We  sat  on  the  summit  of  the  hill,  which  commands  a 
fine  view  of  the  surrounding  country,  and  read  the  pas¬ 
sages  of  holy  writ  relating  to  the  city  of  Omri,  made 
specially  interesting  to  us  by  the  history  of  Elijah  and 
Elisha.  The  people  gathered  around  us,  and  brought 
coins  to  sell,  of  which  we  purchased  a  large  quantity. 

A  short  distance  from  Samaria,  we  passed  through 
Burka,  a  village  at  the  opening  of  a  narrow  mountain 
ravine  with  high,  steep  sides.  The  path  followed  up 
the  bed  of  the  stream,  the  village  guarding  its  outlet. 

15 


338 


A  PISTOL  BALL. 


I  had  remained  behind  the  party  with  Whitely  and 
Abd-el-Atti,  and  we  were  now  riding  on  fast  to  overtake 
them.  As  we  passed  through  the  village,  a  volley  of 
stones  came  down  the  hill  from  the  left  and  nearly  un¬ 
horsed  me.  Without  pausing  an  instant,  only  looking  up 
to  see  the  crowd  of  men  and  boys  who  had  thrown  them, 
Whitely  and  myself  turned  our  horses  up  the  hill.  He 
took  them  on  the  right  and  I  on  the  left,  dodging  their 
missiles  as  we  advanced,  our  strong  horses  going  up  the 
steep  rocks  like  goats. 

Seeing  our  determination  they  desisted,  and  when  we 
reached  the  platform  on  which  they  had  been  standing, 
we  found  only  women  left,  and  they  assured  us  the  assail¬ 
ants  were  only  boys.  We  knew  better,  but  were  forced 
to  return  unsatisfied,  taking  the  narrow  and  steep  lanes 
of  the  village  to  the  foot  of  the  hill,  and  again  entering 
the  pass  to  proceed  on  our  way. 

We  had  not  advanced  beyond  our  former  position, 
when  another  volley  came  down,  with  greater  force  than 
before.  If  one  had  struck  me,  I  had  not  been  here  to 
write  this.  It  would  have  killed  me  then  and  there. 
This  was  no  child’s  play,  and  now  we  saw  the  rascals  far 
up  the  hill-side,  on  the  crags,  where  they  supposed  them¬ 
selves  safe.  I  pointed  a  pistol  at  them,  and  they  laughed 
derisively,  and  sent  down  a  shower  of  stones.  Human 
nature  couldn’t  stand  that,  and  I  fired.  They  believed 
themselves  out  of  reach  of  ball,  but  an  eight-inch  Colt  is 
a  terrible  weapon  to  carry.  The  conical  ball  went  whist¬ 
ling  over  their  heads,  and  split  a  piece  off  from  a  rock,  a 
hundred  feet  above  them.  It  was  the  first,  last,  and  only 
time,  in  all  my  travels  in  the  East,  that  I  had  occasion  to 
use  a  deadly  weapon,  and  I  think  it  produced  a  good 
effect  here.  I  never  lost  an  opportunity  of  impressing 
the  Arabs  with  the  perfection  of  American  and  English 
weapons,  and  the  danger  of  attacking  any  one  of  the 


JEZREEL. 


339 


armed  Franks.  I  think  the  lesson  of  that  ball  not  lost,  and 
under  the  circumstances,  I  should  probably  not  have  re¬ 
gretted  if  it  had  written  its  lesson  in  the  flesh  of  one  of 
them.  As  the  chips  of  stone  fell  rattling  among  them, 
they  retreated  with  a  howl  of  dismay,  and  we  rode  on 
in  peace. 

We  camped  that  night  at  Jenin,  on  the  plain  of  Jezreel. 
Foxes  wailed  and  barked  all  night  around  the  tents.  In 
the  morning,  we  visited  the  fountain  in  the  valley,  saw 
the  women  filling  their  water-jars,  and  heard  their  pleas¬ 
ant  voices,  and  then  rode  on. 

At  Jenin,  we  were  on  the  great  plain  of  Jezreel,  which 
is,  in  fact,  a  branch  of  the  still  greater  Esdraelon,  toward 
which  our  course  now  lay.  Two  hours  and  a  quarter  over 
a  dead  level  most  of  the  way,  brought  us  to  a  solitary 
tower  among  some  ruins  and  a  few  mud  huts,  which  is 
now  known  as  Zerin,  a  corruption  of  the  ancient  Jezreel. 
The  party  of  gentlemen  from  Scotland,  increased  to  four, 
besides  one  of  the  resident  missionaries  at  Jerusalem, 
were  now  in  company  with  us,  and  our  route  lay  together 
for  several  days.  We  climbed  the  huge  square  tower  by 
a  crumbling  staircase,  and  then  on  each  other’s  shoulders, 
to  the  edge  of  the  battlements,  from  which  the  view  was 
very  fine  and  very  interesting. 

Jezreel  was  the  city  of  Ahab,  and  it  was  not  a  little  in¬ 
teresting,  in  this  spot,  to  read  the  story  of  the  vineyard  of 
Naboth,  and  endeavor  to  locate  it. 

This  was  not  so  difficult  as  might  be  imagined. 

The  hill  on  which  the  present  Tower  of  Jezreel  stands, 
is  sufficiently  marked  to  show  the  probability  that  the 
watch-tower  was  here,  from  which  the  watchman  saw 
Jehu  when  he  came  up  from  the  eastward,  recognized  his 
furious  driving,  and  reported  it  to  Joram  and  Ahaziah, 
who  were  in  the  palace.  But  the  field  of  Naboth  was 
hard  by  the  palace,  and  it  is  said  that  when  the  two  kings 


340 


MOUNTAINS  OF  GILBOA. 


went  out  to  meet  Jehu,  who  was  rapidly  approaching, 
they  found  him  “in  the  portion  of  Naboth,”  an  indication 
that  it  lay  east  of  the  palace,  from  which  direction  Jehu 
was  coming  from  Ramoth-Gilead. 

But  the  great  interest  in  the  view  from  this  tower  con¬ 
sisted  in  the  mountains  that  looked  down  on  it.  In  the 
centre  of  the  valley,  to  the  eastward  but  a  short  distance, 
we  saw  the  village  of  Beisan,  the  Beth-Shan  where  the 
Philistines  fastened  the  body  of  Saul  to  the  wall,  and 
whence  the  valiant  of  Jabesh-Gilead  took  it  away  in  the 
night,  to  burn  and  bury  at  Jabesh. 

On  the  south  of  the  valley,  stood  the  mountains  of  Gil- 
boa,  where  the  mighty  fell,  and  their  shields  were  cast 
vilely  away.  The  mournful  lament  of  David  over  Jona¬ 
than  had  a  touching  interest  as  we  read  it  aloud  here.  To 
the  westward,  was  the  great  plain  of  Esdraelon,  and  be¬ 
yond  it  Mount  Carmel,  whence  Elijah  ran  before  Ahab  to 
the  gates  of  Jezreel.  On  the  north,  were  the  beautiful 
heights  of  the  Little  Hermon,  falling  off  into  the  plain  of 
Esdraelon,  and  far  to  the  east  were  the  blue  hills  of  Moab. 

The  wdiole  country  around  us  was  now  of  the  utmost 
interest.  On  the  great  plain  which  we  were  looking 
over,  so  many  battles  had  been  fought  from  the  time 
wdien  “  the  stars  in  their  courses  fought  against  Sisera,” 
and  “  the  river  Kishon  swept  them  away,  that  ancient 
river,  the  river  Kishon,”  that  the  name  of  Megiddo  had 
become  synonymous  with  a  battle-field,  in  the  days  of  the 
vision  of  Patmos. 


;) ri i)  'i({|Z{|i,efl). 

Leaving  Jezreel,  we  rode  on,  over  the  plain,  to  the 
south-western  slope  of  the  hill  which  I  have  called  Little 
Hermon,  and  which  is  otherwise  called  Mount  Duhy. 
Here,  among  a  grove  of  orange-trees  and  prickly  pear, 
we  found  a  small  village,  known  as  Sulem ,  which  is  the 
ancient  Shunem.  Riding  on  through  it,  we  closed  up 
together,  and  I  read  aloud  the  exquisite  story  of  the  Shu- 
namite  woman,  which  possessed  an  interest  I  never  before 
felt,  touching  as  the  history  is.  Carmel  lay  still  over- 
against  us,  whither  she  rode  to  the  prophet,  and  where 
she  met  his  servant,  with  that  sublime  answer  of  confi¬ 
dence  in  God  that  has  comforted  many  a  mourning 
mother  since,  “  It  is  well.” 

I  never  before  appreciated  the  fact  that  the  miracle  of 
Elijah  was  performed  so  near  the  spot  where  Christ  raised 
the  widow’s  son. 

A  short  ride  of  half  an  hour,  brought  us  to  Nain,  which 
lies  on  the  northern  slope  of  Duhy,  as  Shunem  does  on 
the  southern.  We  rode  around  the  end  of  the  hill,  and 
approached  the  village,  which  still  bears  its  old  name, 
hallowed  by  the  most  sacred  associations.  As  we  came 
around  the  end  of  the  hill,  Tabor,  most  beautiful  of  mount¬ 
ains,  spread  before  us,  rising  from  the  plain  of  Esdraelon, 
which  here  swept  off  to  the  east,  and  standing  against  the 
sky  in  a  long,  graceful  curve.  The  views  of  the  hill  are 


342 


N  A  I  N. 


\ 


usually  taken  from  the  north-west  end,  representing  it 
narrow  and  sugar-loafed,  but  our  present  view  of  its  side 
exhibited  it  as  a  small  segment  of  a  circle,  of  which  the 
arc  was  the  plain. 

Nain  is  a  small  village  with  remains  of  an  ancient  place 
scattered  here  and  there  about  it.  It  is  situated  on  the 
steep  side  of  a  mountain  looking  olf  to  Tabor  and  Naza¬ 
reth.  The  village  has  a  few  poor  inhabitants,  but  I  found 
most  interest  on  the  eastern  side  of  it,  where  the  quantity 
of  rock-hewn  sepulchres  in  the  liill-side  indicated  the  lo¬ 
cality  of  the  ancient  burial-place.  It  was  toward  these,  I 
believed,  that  they  were  bearing  the  young  man  when 
the  voice  of  him  who  spoke  to  earth  and  the  other  worlds 
at  the  same  moment,  reached  him  and  recalled  him  to  his 
mother’s  affection. 

We  sat  down  near  the  fountain,  under  the  houses  on 
the  hill-side.  The  inhabitants  gathered  around  us  with 
staring  eyes,  for  a  Frankish  lady  was  a  curiosity  to  them, 
and  wherever  we  went  Miriam  was  sure  to  attract  atten¬ 
tion. 

Mo  reright,  who  did  the  serious  for  our  party,  and  was 
indefatigable  in  finding  illustrations  of  Scripture  truths, 
called  our  attention  to  the  various  points  of  interest  on 
the  plain  before  us.  The  river  Kishon  no  longer  swept 
through  it  with  resistless  current,  yet  it  is  so  fierce  in  the 
rainy  seasons  even  now,  that  the  French  troops  of  Napo¬ 
leon  found  it  as  dangerous  as  did  Sisera.  Many  Arabs 
were  drowned  in  it  at  the  battle  of  Mount  Tabor,  in  1799. 
One  branch  of  it  came  down  the  valley  from  the  sides  of 
Mount  Tabor  and  another  from  the  other  parts  of  the 
valley  toward  the  south  and  south-east.  The  whole  finds 
outlet  at  Acre,  in  a  strong  stream,  which,  in  wet  seasons, 
becomes  a  torrent. 

We  rode  slowly  for  a  little  distance  across  the  plain, 
toward  the  rocky  and  precipitous  hills  which  frowned  on 


E  N  D  0  R  . 


343 


the  other  side,  and  among  which  Nazareth  lay,  invisible  to 
us.  But  at  length  the  bay  horse,  Mohammed,  of  his  own 
notion,  increased  his  speed,  and  the  chestnut  drew  up 
alongside,  and  then  all  four  went  like  the  wind  over  the 
plain  of  Esdraelon.  For  three  miles  of  gentle  slope  we 
kept  up  this  speed,  and  hushed  down  the  horses  when  we 
approached  the  hills.  An  Arab  horse  is  stopped  by  a  low 
hiss  or  hush.  If  you  draw  the  rein  he  breaks  down  on 
his  haunches  and  is  very  likely  to  pitch  you  over  his  head. 
There  was  a  style  of  riding  that  we  called  the  American 
style,  from  the  number  of  our  inexperienced  countrymen 
that  we  saw  going  through  it.  English  and  French, 
Scotch  and  Italian,  did  the  same,  but  we  saw  fewer  of 
them.  When  the  horse  sprang  off  on  the  first  jump,  the 
rider  broke  his  back  over  the  board  which  stands  up  be¬ 
hind  the  saddle,  then  drawing  the  rein  fiercely,  threw  his 
horse  down  on  his  haunches,  and  went  over  on  his  neck 
behind  the  ears.  Such  is  the  invariable  experience  the 
first  time  a  stranger  tries  an  Arab  horse. 

A  little  below  Nain  on  the  hill-side,  to  the  east,  we  saw 
Endoor,  the  ancient  Endor.  We  observed  the  direction 
which  Saul  took  to  reach  it  before  the  battle  of  Gilboa. 
He  doubtless  crossed  the  plain  near  Beth-Shan,  and  then 
went  over  the  ridge  of  Mount  Duhy,  instead  of  coming 
around,  as  we  had,  by  the  plain,  which  would  have  ex¬ 
posed  him  to  the  Philistines. 

We  crossed  no  stream  of  water  between  Duhy  and  the 
hills  near  Nazareth.  Our  course  was  directly  over  the 
plain,  which  was  carpeted  with  brilliant  wild  flowers,  the 
various  shades  of  the  anemone  abounding. 

At  the  foot  of  the  Jebel  Nazareth  was  a  little  village 
called  Saleh,  and,  riding  through  this,  we  were  under  a 
precipice  which  I  think  no  one  would  expect  to  mount  on 
horseback  any  more  easily  than  the  Hudson  Palisades.  I 
paused  in  astonishment,  and,  unable  to  perceive  any 


344 


A  HILL-SIDE. 


gorge,  ravine,  or  sloping  place  where  a  path  could  go,  I 
doubted  Betuni’s  ability  as  a  guide,  and  was  confirmed 
in  my  doubts  by  Dr.  Robinson,  whom  Moreright  now 
read  aloud.  He  went  by  this  spot  to  a  pass  below,  being 
assured  by  his  guides  that  no  horse  could  go  up  here, 
though  men  sometimes  did. 

In  our  swift  ride  over  the  plain  we  had  left  Betuni  and 
his  inimitable  donkey  behind,  but  they  at  length  overtook 
us,  and  Betuni  rode  straight  on. 

“  But,  Betuni,  there  is  no  road  here.” 

u  O,  yes  there  is — derb  tieb — keteer  !” 

“  There ’s  a  first-rate  road,  eh  ?  Well,  we  ’ll  try  it.” 

With  a-  sigh  of  horror  we  entered  among  the  piles  of 
fallen  rock  that  lay  near  the  foot,  and  commenced  our 
winding,  zig-zag  process  of  ascent.  On  my  "word  of 
honor,  I  should  as  soon  have  thought  of  riding  up  the 
front  of  Trinity  church  as  up  that  hill.  I  could  easier 
have  ridden  up  the  pyramid  of  Ghizeh,  and  after  that  I 
was  ready  to  pledge  Mohammed  to  carry  me  up  the  Bun¬ 
ker  Hill  monument  by  the  stairway  at  a  full  run. 

It  was  a  wild  liill-side.  Here  and  there  patches  of 
brush  and  wild  flowers  found  soil  among  the  stones,  but 
the  path  was,  for  the  most  part,  on  solid  rock.  Often¬ 
times  the  horses  ascended,  for  thirty  feet,  a  succession  of 
rocky  steps,  and  the  whole  ascent,  of  more  than  a  thou¬ 
sand  feet,  was  accomplished  within  an  angle  of  a  hundred 
and  fifteen  degrees  from  the  level  of  the  plain,  or  twenty- 
five  from  a  perpendicular. 

The  view  from  the  summit  was  grand  and  beautiful. 
We  sat  down  on  the  ground  to  enjoy  it  while  our  horses 
cropped  the  low  brush  and  wandered  around  us.  It  was 
one  of  the  pleasant  features  of  our  various  halts  that  we 
never  had  occasion  to  tie  the  horses.  When  I  wished  to 
dismount  and  walk,  Mohammed  followed  me  everywhere 
like  a  dog. 


NAZARETH. 


345 


The  sun  was  far  down  when  we  came  within  sight  of 
Nazareth,  much  the  most  beautiful  village  in  Syria.  Its 
white  stone  houses  stand  all  along  the  western  side  of  a 
narrow  valley,  which  falls  away  to  the  plain  of  Esdraelon. 
This  valley  we  should  have  come  up  by  going  further 
along  the  plain. 

At  the  upper  end  of  the  valley  and  village  was  a  Greek 
church,  under  which  springs  a  fountain  that  flows  under 
ground  a  hundred  feet  in  front  of  it  and  then  through  a 
stone  sarcophagus  which  is  sunk  below  the  level  of  the 
ground.  This  is  the  u  Virgin’s  fountain.”  Close  by  was  a 
grove  of  olive-trees  among  which  our  tents  were  pitched, 
and  the  flag  was  fluttering  gayly.  Water  was  scarce  in 
Nazareth.  Every  drop  that  entered  this  sarcophagus 
was  dipped  out  by  women  who  stood  crowded  around  it, 
filling  their  large  jars  by  small  cups  full.  So  great  was 
the  crowd  that  they  stood  around  the  fountain  all  night 
in  a  dense  mass,  talking  in  shrill  musical  voices,  and  mak¬ 
ing  the  night  sleepless  to  us  in  the  tents. 

We  walked  down  through  the  village  to  the  convent, 
which  is  built  on  the  supposed  site  of  the  residence  of  the 
Virgin. 

I  had  little  interest  in  visiting  this  spot,  and  should  not 
have  gone  at  all  but  for  my  desire  to  procure  some  sup¬ 
plies  from  the  father  superior.  It  was  enough  for  me  to 
see  the  mountains  over  which  the  young  footsteps  of  the 
Lord  wandered ;  to  know  that  this  sunshine  fell  on  his 
fair  forehead ;  that  he  lay  down  on  these  hill-sides,  and 
watched  the  changing  lights  and  shades  across  the  plain 
of  Armageddon ;  that  here  the  angels  guarded,  and  his 
Father  talked  with  him.  With  the  locality  of  his  home 
I  had  nothing  to  do  ;  for  though  he  might  have  called 
this  or  that  spot  his  mother’s  home,  he  had  had  no 
home,  nor  where  to  lay  his  head.  From  childhood  he 
was  a  wanderer.  The  winds  on  these  bleak  hills  were 

15* 


346  THE  VIRGIN’S  HOUSE. 

holy  winds ;  I  bared  my  head  to  them,  and  rejoiced  to 
feel  their  soft  influences  over  my  forehead,  since  they 
had  been  accustomed  thus  to  touch  his  brow.  Over 
these  rocky  precipices  he  roved  ;  on  these  hill-tops  he  sat 
down  and  studied  the  sky,  beyond  which  he  knew  was  his 
home  and  throne  ;  here  he  read  the  brilliant  page  of  the 
night,  and  talked  with  star-light  as  the  messenger  of  his 
Father. 

All  this  I  felt,  and  it  was  but  a  mockery  of  feeling  after 
that  to  be  led  to  the  kitchen  of  the  Virgin  Mary  in  the 
rock  behind  the  spot  where  her  house  stood,  or  to  be 
shown  the  place  of  the  annunciation. 

Nevertheless  the  old  church  was  curious;  and  there 
were  some  old  things  in  the  chapel  that  repaid  one  for 
the  visit.  There  was  a  curious  broken  column  hanging 
from  the  roof  of  the  Grotto  of  the  Annunciation,  and  a 
hewn  passage-way  through  the  rock  behind  it  led  to  the 
kitchen. 

The  house  of  the  Virgin  once  stood  over  this  grotto ; 
and  there  are  traditions,  which  every  one  has  heard,  of  its 
having  gone  hence  to  Loretto,  which  can  be  found  in 
their  proper  place. 

We  found  the  superior  in  his  room.  He  was  a  fine- 
looking  man,  with  a  long,  black  beard,  lying  on  his 
breast.  He  received  us  warmly ;  and  after  an  hour’s  con¬ 
versation  with  him,  I  ventured  to  ask  him  for  the  supplies 
that  we  were  in  need  of. 

They  were  rather  curious  supplies  to  inquire  for  at  a 
convent;  but  I  was  not  disappointed.  We  had  been  as¬ 
sured  in  Jerusalem  that  the  delicious  Lebanon  wine  which 
we  found  there  could  be  procured  in  any  quantity  at  Naza¬ 
reth  ;  and  relying  on  this,  we  brought  no  supplies  of  wine 
with  us.  Our  claret  and  Marsala  had  lasted  us  till  this 
day;  but  we  had  finished  the  former  at  luncheon,  and  the 
last  bottle  of  the  latter  was  for  the  dinner-table  ;  and  we 


HOSPITALITY. 


347 


did  not  dare  trust  ourselves  to  travel  with  no  reliance 
but  the  water  of  the  country. 

The  worthy  father  told  me  that  wine  was  very  scarce 
in  Nazareth,  good  wine  particularly  so;  but  he  had  a 
small  quantity  in  the  convent,  of  which  I  should  have  at 
least  enough  to  last  us  to  Tiberias,  where  he  had  procured 
it,  and  where  we  could  find  plenty. 

After  dinner  that  evening,  as  I  stood  among  the  olive- 
trees  in  front  of  the  tent  looking  down  into  the  valley  at  the 
laughing  crowd  of  women,  whose  voices  rang  like  home 
music  around  me,  two  lay  brothers  of  the  Franciscans 
arrived  with  a  large  basket  between  them,  containing  a 
gallon  bottle  of  capital  wine,  a  quart  of  arrakee,  and  one 
old  sealed  bottle  marked  with  the  familiar  wax  and  title 
of  golden  Muscat.  The  latter  was  a  bottle  evidently 
presented  to  the  good  fathers  by  some  wealthy  trav¬ 
eler,  and  I  had  not  the  heart  to  accept  it.  I  sent  it  back 
with  my  thanks;  but  fee  or  reward  the  brothers  who 
brought  it  protested  they  would  not  accept.  I  pressed  a 
piece  of  money  on  each  of  them,  and  sent  my  hearty 
thanks  and  farewell  to  the  superior.  May  he  be  long 
preserved  to  preside  over  the  Convent  of  the  Annunciation 
and  welcome  travelers  to  his  hospitality  ! 

I  know  not  to  what  I  should  attribute  the  kindness  I 
always  experienced  from  the  monks  and  brothers  of  the 
Terra  Santa.  Other  travelers  have  found  them  distant 
and  reserved,  and  have  described  them  as  hospitable  only 
for  the  sake  of  money.  It  was  never  so  with  me.  Prob¬ 
ably  my  frank  manner  of  addressing  them,  a  free  and 
easy  style  of  assuring  them,  that  though  I  was  a  Protest¬ 
ant,  I  had  yet  a  profound  reverence  for  Holy  Land,  and 
an  affectionate  regard  to  them  as  the  custodians  of  its 
holiest  places ;  and,  in  short,  a  way  of  claiming  friendship 
with  them  on  the  score  of  common  Christianity,  made 
them  feel  more  kindly  toward  me  than  they  feel  toward 


348 


HILL  ABOVE  NAZARETH. 


men  who  eye  them  with  suspicion  or  contempt,  and  con¬ 
verse  with  them  in  tones  that  indicate  not  only  their  in¬ 
credulity,  but  also  their  belief  of  the  insincerity  of  their 
informants.  In  Jerusalem,  Bethlehem,  and  Nazareth,  I 
found  the  kindest  treatment,  the  pleasantest  welcome  ; 
and  I  envied  the  good  men  their  calm  lives,  and  the  pros¬ 
pect  before  them  of  slumber  in  holy  soil. 

Early  next  morning  I  climbed  the  hill  of  Nazareth, 
back  of  our  tents,  before  sunrise,  and  getting  to  the  top 
of  a  Mohammedan  wely,  or  tomb,  sat  down  and  saw  the 
morning  advance  over  the  grandest  panorama  of  mount¬ 
ains  in  the  world. 

Eastward  lay  Tabor,  its  base  hidden  by  the  high  bluffs 
up  which  we  climbed  the  day  previous,  its  summit  on  the 
sky  just  where  the  sun  was  coming  up.  Then  the  blue 
line  of  the  hills  of  Moab  went  along  the  south-eastern 
horizon,  and  Little  Hermon  and  Gilboa,  reaching  to  Mount 
Carmel  on  the  south,  and  Carmel  sweeping  away  to  the 
blue  Mediterranean  on  the  south-west.  The  sea  wTas  the 
western  horizon,  and  north-west  and  north  were  the  snowy 
peaks  of  Lebanon. 

Within  this  horizon  line  lay,  east  of  us,  the  depression 
of  the  Sea  of  Galilee,  the  sea  itself  not  visible,  and  the 
valley  of  the  Jordan  stretching  away  southward.  Endor 
and  Nain,  this  side  of  Little  Hermon,  and  Jezreel  visible 
beyond  it.  Shunem  lay  behind  the  hill.  The  ancient 
Megiddo  and  Taanah,  on  the  broad  plain  of  Esdraelon, 
with  here  and  there  a  mirror-like  patch  of  water  in  the 
bed  of  the  river  Kishon.  The  harbor  of  Haifa,  with 
vessels  at  anchor,  was  visible  to  the  west.  Tyre  and 
Sidon  I  could  not  see,  but  Cana  of  Galilee  was  doubtless 
one  of  the  villages  near  us  on  the  north,  and  Sefurieh, 
last  city  of  the  Christian  kingdom  of  Jerusalem. 

The  centre  of  all  these  was  Nazareth,  the  city  of  the 
childhood  of  the  Lord,  where,  in  after  years,  the  people 


A  MOURNING  SCENE. 


349 


led  him  to  the  brow  of  the  hill,  on  which  their  city  was 
built,  with  intent  to  cast  him  down.  The  Mount  of  Pre¬ 
cipitation  is  pointed  out  at  two  miles  from  the  village, 
overhanging  the  deep  valley  of  Esdraelon,  but  it  is  much 
more  probable  that  a  precipice  within  the  city,  not  far 
from  the  convent,  is  the  place  where  that  event  occurred. 
The  other  is  certainly  not  the  hill  on  which  the  city  was 
built. 

While  I  sat  on  the  hill,  Moreright  came  up  and  joined 
me.  Whitely  was  not  given  to  early  rising,  and  missed 
the  scene. 

It  was  still  and  calm  as  a  Sunday  morning  in  the  coun¬ 
try  at  home.  The  voices  of  the  women  at  the  fountain 
came  up  to  us  with  surprising  clearness,  though  we  were 
a  thousand  feet  from  them.  A  few  rods  nearer  to  us,  a 
little  way  from  the  tents,  was  a  grave-yard,  connected 
with  the  Greek  church  at  the  fountain,  and  in  it  I  had 
seen  two  women  sitting  over  a  grave,  croning  to  one 
another  a  lament.  I  could  hear  the  very  words  of  it  now 
on  the  hill-top.  One,  and  another,  and  another  woman  came 
out  of  the  village  and  joined  them,  till  the  circle  became 
large,  and  the  lament  exceedingly  solemn  and  sad.  They 
sang  more  of  a  tune  than  I  had  been  accustomed  to  hear 
from  eastern  women,  and  at  length  they  rose  and  formed 
a  large  circle  around  the  two  chief  mourners.  There 
were  forty  persons  in  the  circle.  The  two  within  contin¬ 
ued  the  lament,  going  around  the  circle  and  facing  each 
one  in  succession,  bowing,  and  swinging  a  white  cloth  in 
the  hand,  and  occasionally  the  entire  company  responded. 
The  perfect  time  which  they  kept  in  the  responses  made 
the  forty  voices  like  one.  This  continued  for  a  half  hour, 
and  until  Miriam,  whom  I  had  left  asleep  in  her  tent,  came 
out  to  look  at  them.  As  she  approached,  their  grief  gave 
way  to  curiosity,  and  they  broke  up  the  ring  and  sur¬ 
rounded  her.  One  examined  her  hat,  another  her  shawl, 


350 


A  MADONNA  FACE. 


% 


her  shawl-pin,  and  other  ornamental  articles  of  dress. 
They  pinched  her  cheeks,  and  patted  her  on  the  hack,  to 
intimate  approbation,  and,  in  fact,  made  a  general  inspec¬ 
tion  of  herself  and  her  wardrobe,  to  all  which  she  sub¬ 
mitted  with  much  amusement. 

After  we  were  in  the  saddle,  we  rode  down  to  the  spring 
to  have  a  last  look  at  the  women  of  Nazareth,  who  were, 
as  a  class,  much  the  prettiest  that  we  had  seen  in  the  East. 

As  we  approached  the  crowd,  a  tall  girl  of  nineteen  ad¬ 
vanced  toward  Miriam  and  offered  her  a  cup  of  water. 
Her  movement  was  graceful  and  queenly.  We  exclaimed 
on  the  spot  at  the  Madonna-like  beauty  of  her  countenance. 
Whitely  was  suddenly  thirsty,  and  begged  for  water,  and 
drank  it  slowly,  with  his  eyes  over  the  top  of  the  cup 
fixed  on  her  large  black  eyes,  which  gazed  on  him  quite 
as  curiously  as  he  on  her.  Then  Moreright  wanted  water. 
She  gave  it  to  him,  and  he  managed  to  sjoill  it  so  as  to  ask 
for  another  cup,  and  by  the  time  she  came  to  me  she  saw 
through  the  operation ;  her  eyes  were  full  of  fun  as  she 
looked  at  me.  I  laughed  outright,  and  she  joined  me  in 
as  gay  a  shout  as  ever  country  maiden  in  old  Orange 
county.  I  wished  for  a  picture  of  her.  A  Madonna, 
whose  face  was  a  portrait  of  that  beautiful  Nazareth  girl, 
would  be  u  a  thing  of  beauty,”  and  “  a  joy  forever.” 

Over  the  hills  to  Tabor.  Oak  groves  abounded  now. 
The  ground  was  brilliant  with  lilies  of  the  field.  One 
specimen  that  I  found  was  the  most  beautiful  flag  that 
I  have  ever  seen.  I  suppose  it  to  be  the  Calcedonian 
Iris.  It  had  three  dark,  mottled  brown  petals,  sprinkled 
with  spots  of  rich  purple.  AfterwTard,  on  the  plain  of  the 
upper  Jordan,  we  found  it  plentiful,  whence  it  is  known 
to  the  missionaries  as  the  Hooleli  lily,  a  name  that  I  mis¬ 
understood  at  first  for  Holy  lily,  and  which  thus  accorded 
with  our  expressed  ideas  that  such  a  lily  might  well  merit 
the  praise  of  Christ. 


■r 


MOUNT  TABOR.  Sol 

The  ascent  of  Tabor  was  difficult  and  dangerous. 
Miriam  rode  to  the  top.  A  horse  in  front  of  her  fell 
twice,  and,  rolling  back,  nearly  threw  the  chestnut  down, 
but  he  stood  up  bravely,  shaking  his  head  at  the  mishap 
of  his  fellow,  and  though  once  he  slipped  on  a  smooth 
rock,  regained  his  firm  footing  in  a  moment,  and  at 
length  reached  the  top  in  safety  with  his  rider,  who  was 
the  only  one  of  the  party  that  rode  to  the  summit. 
When  we  reached  the  eastern  extremity  of  the  ridge, 
where  ruins  abound,  our  eyes  were  blessed  with  the  blue, 
deep  beauty  of  the  sea  of  Galilee. 

Mount  Tabor  is  the  reputed  mountain  of  the  trans¬ 
figuration.  It  needs  but  little  examination  of  the  ac¬ 
count  of  that  event  to  see  that  it  probably  took  jdace  on 
some  more  northern  hill,  and  the  fact  that  Tabor  was  at 
all  times  occupied  by  a  fortified  city,  certainly  puts  it  out 
of  the  question  that  that  scene  could  have  occurred  here. 
We  found  the  mount  covered  with  ruins,  and  at  the  east¬ 
ern  point  a  sort  of  grotto  which  has  once  had  holy  repu¬ 
tation.  A  solitary  Greek  monk  lives,  hermit  fashion,  on 
the  pile,  guarding  it  from  devils,  for  there  is  nothing 
here  to  keep  men  from. 

We  were  two  hours  from  Nazareth  to  the  foot  of 
Tabor,  and  one  hour  in  ascending  it.  Its  Arabic  name 
is  Jebel  e’  Tur.  It  stands  about  fifteen  hundred  feet 
above  the  plain  of  Esdraelon,  at  the  head  of  that  plain. 
Annual  pilgrimages  are  made  here  by  the  Christians  of 
Palestine,  and  it  is  seldom  that  a  day  passes  without 
more  or  less  religious  visitors  resting  on  its  summit. 
Many  splendid  churches  and  chapels  have,  in  former 
years,  been  erected  here  in  fulfillment  of  the  design 
expressed  by  the  disciples. 

But  the  summit  of  Tabor  is  now  a  heap  of  ruins,  and 
the  wild  beasts  of  the  plain  find  refuge  on  its  sides. 
Two  splendid  eagles  wheeled  screaming  over  our  heads 


352 


BATTLES  NEAR  TABOR. 


as  we  sat  on  the  mountain,  as  if  to  remind  us  of  the 
valiant  whose  blood  had  enriched  the  dust  around  it. 

I  have  already  spoken  of  the  battles  which  have  taken 
place  on  the  plain  of  Esdraelon.  No  place  on  the  earth’s 
surface  presents  a  view  of  so  many  battle-fields,  or  as  I 
should  rather  say,  of  the  field  of  so  many  battles,  as  the 
top  of  Mount  Tabor. 

Here  Sisera  was  conquered,  and  here  Gideon  put  to 
flight  the  Midianites,  with  his  small  army  of  chosen  men. 
On  the  mountains  of  Gilboa  Saul  lost  his  kingdom  and 
his  life,  and  at  Megiddo  Josiah  fell  before  Pharaoh- 
Necho. 

Many  of  the  most  bloody  battles  of  the  Crusades  were 
fought  around  the  hill,  and  here,  as  often  before  in  days 
when  the  crown  of  Jerusalem  was  verily  given  by  God, 
Guy  of  Lusignan,  last  king  of  Jerusalem,  lost  his  sceptre 
and  throne  in  battle  with  Salah-e’deen. 

The  brilliant  career  of  Napoleon  led  him  across  the 
plain  to  fight  the  battle  of  Mount  Tabor,  where  the 
great  soldier,  with  six  hundred  men,  rescued  Kleber  and 
his  fifteen  hundred,  from  twenty-five  thousand  enemies. 
Even  so  late  as  our  day,  one  of  the  most  celebrated  bom¬ 
bardments,  that  of  Acre,  in  1840,  was  at  the  mouth  of 
the  great  plain,  not  visible  indeed  from  Tabor,  but  not  so 
far  distant  that  its  thunders  were  not  perfectly  audible 
on  the  hill. 

Of  all  these  battles,  and  many  others  that  I  have  not 
alluded  to,  in  Hebrew  and  in  Homan  times,  there  was 
none  that  so  deeply  interested  me  and  so  occupied  my 
attention,  as  I  sat  on  the  summit  of  Tabor,  and  subsequently 
when  I  rode  across  the  plain  on  which  it  was  fought, 
as  that  last  great  battle  of  the  kingdom  of  Jerusalem, 
when  the  possession  of  the  Holy  Cross  passed  from  the 
Christians  forever. 


Jf o  1  y  6  i*  o  $  £  e. 

Heee  beginneth  the  story  of  the  great  battle  of  the 
Cross,  wherein  that  wood  which  Helena  found  in  the  pit 
near  Calvary,  which  Heraclius,  barefoot  and  bareheaded, 
carried  on  his  shoulder  into  the  gates  of  the  Holy  City, 
after  that  he  had  regained  it  from  the  Persians,  which 
holy  men  of  many  centuries  had  gathered  around  with 
devoted  affection,  was  lost  unto  Christians  forever. 
There  are,  in  the  golden  vials,  which  the  elders  spoken  of 
in  the  apocalypse  hold  in  their  hands,  many  prayers  that 
went  up  before  that  wood,  and  that  sanctified  it,  whether 
it  were  or  not  the  wood  of  Christ’s  Passion. 

I  tell  the  story  as  I  have  found  and  heard  it  in  frag¬ 
ments.  The  principal  historical  facts  I  have  verified 
abundantly  by  examination  ;  the  incidents  I  gathered 
from  the  monks  of  the  Terra  Santa,  and  especially  from 
Fra  Giovanni,  my  gentle  friend,  whose  brain  was  a  treas¬ 
ure  house  of  fine  old  legendary  lore. 

It  was  in  the  year  of  grace  and  peace — woeful  year  to 
call  a  year  of  peace — eleven  hundred  and  eighty-seven, 
that  the  kingdom  of  Jerusalem  fell.  Dark  clouds  gathered 
in  the  previous  year.  Dire  portents  were  in  the  heavens. 
Earthquakes  and  terrible  tempests  shook  Jerusalem  on 
her  throne  of  hills.  The  jealousies  of  the  Knights  of  St. 
John  and  of  the  Temple,  the  contests  for  superiority,  and 
the  rival  claims  to  the  kingdom  itself,  might  well  make 


354 


REGINALD  OF  CHANTILLON. 


Baldwin  IY.  to  believe  that  his  crown  was  the  last  crown 
of  Christ,  not  that  of  Solomon. 

Meantime,  Yusef  Salah-e’deen,  the  new  Egyptian  kalif, 
having  made  firm  his  throne  in  that  country,  had  extended 
his  power  around  Palestine,  and  was  now  in  Damascus, 
meditating  on  a  way  to  excuse  himself  from  a  violation 
of  treaties,  and  an  attack  on  Jerusalem. 

The  excuse  was  at  hand. 

Reginald  of  Chatillon,  a  Knight  of  the  Cross,  had  come 
to  Palestine  with  Louis  le  Jeune,  and  joined  the  forces  of 
Raymond  of  Poictiers,  Prince  of  Antioch.  Keen  as  a 
hawk,  and  brave  as  a  lion,  the  young  soldier,  nameless 
and  of  low  origin,  not  only  won  a  name,  but,  on  the  death 
of  Raymond,  won  his  widow  Constance  and  his  throne. 
The  stories  of  his  bravery  and  beauty,  sung  by  the  trou¬ 
badours  of  those  days,  were  countless,  nor  was  any  one 
more  often  mentioned,  as  stout  knight  and  valiant  soldier, 
than  Reginald  of  Chatillon.  His  career  is  the  theme  for 
a  history.  His  arm  never  grew  weary  of  battle,  nor  did 
his  sword  rust  until  he  was  taken  prisoner  by  the  Mos¬ 
lems,  and  kept  in  chains  for  years  at  Aleppo.  Released 
at  last,  he  found  his  wife  dead  and  his  son  on  his  throne. 
He  himself  gathered  around  him  the  most  daring  and 
reckless  of  the  Temjfiars,  and  having,  by  a  second  mar¬ 
riage,  obtained  other  castles  and  possessions,  he  made  it 
the  business  of  his  life  to  harass  and  annoy  the  Saracens 
wherever  he  could  find  them ;  and,  at  length,  emboldened 
by  his  success,  conceived  the  idea  of  marching  to  Medinah 
and  Mecca,  and  plundering  the  holy  kaaba  itself.  With 
his  hitherto  invincible  band  of  warriors,  he  set  out  on  this 
perilous  enterprise.  They  surprised  and  captured  the 
Egyptian  caravan  crossing  the  desert  from  India,  and  ad¬ 
vanced  in  triumph  to  the  valley  of  Rabid,  scarcely  thirty 
miles  from  Medina,  where  they  were  met  by  an  over¬ 
whelming  force,  and  routed  with  terrible  slaughter. 


A  GALLANT  FIGHT. 


355 


Reginald  escaped  even  here ;  but  Salah-e’deen  was 
aroused  by  this  sacrilegious  undertaking.  He  swore,  by 
an  oath,  that  could  not  be  violated,  that  the  knight  should 
die  and  Jerusalem  should  fall. 

Baldwin  V.,  the  infant  successor  of  the  imbecile  Bald¬ 
win  IV.,  died.  The  proud  and  weak  Guy  of  Lusignan 
took  the  throne.  His  own  brother,  Geoffrey,  on  hearing 
of  his  succession,  exclaimed,  “  If  they  made  a  king  out 
of  Guy,  they  would  make  a  God  out  of  me,  if  they  did 
but  know  me.” 

Once  and  again  Salah-e’deen  advanced  into  Galilee. 
Treaties  were  from  time  to  time  concluded,  and  for  a  little  N 
while  observed.  But  the  bold  Reginald  held  himself 
aloof  from  all  treaties,  and  continued  to  capture  Moslem 
caravans  wherever  he  could  overtake  them.  At  length 
the  end  came. 

Raymond,  Count  of  Tripoli,  had  strengthened  himself 
in  his  city  of  Tiberias,  against  King  Guy,  with  whom  he 
was  now  at  enmity.  For  Raymond  had  claims  to  the 
throne,  which  had  been  disregarded  in  behalf  of  Guy  of 
Lusignan.  A  Moslem  army  entered  Galilee  from  Damas¬ 
cus,  summoned  by  Raymond  to  his  aid.  The  Grand 
Master  of  the  Templars,  and  the  Master  of  the  Hospitalers, 
with  about  a  hundred  and  twenty  men,  were  surprised 
and  surrounded  near  Tabor. 

Of  the  deeds  that  were  done  that  day,  there  are  records 
in  ancient  books  and  songs  that  make  it  illustrious  among 
days  of  battle.  Overwhelmed  by  thousands,  they  held 
the  field  one  long  day ;  nor  had  any  Christian  knight 
thought  of  leaving  that  field  (save  three  cowards,  of 
whom  hereafter),  but  every  man,  fighting  as  if  it  were  his 
own  battle,  fell  where  he  fought,  and  died  on  the  plain. 
They  exhausted  their  quivers,  and  drew  the  reeking  shafts 
from  their  own  bodies  to  hurl  them  back  on  the  foe. 
They  lost  their  lances,  and,  wrenching  the  spears  of  the 


35G 


BRAVE  KNIGHT! 


Saracens  from  their  bleeding  sides,  died  piercing  the 
enemy  with  the  last  thrust  of  his  own  javelin.  One  by 
one  they  went  down  on  the  bloody  field,  until,  when 
the  Master  of  the  Hospitalers  himself  had  fallen,  one 
Knight  of  the  Temple  remained  on  the  field,  alone,  of  all 
that  gallant  company,  to  fight  the  battle  of  the  Lord. 

Jacques  de  Maille,  mounted  on  his  white  charger,  still 
lived,  and  still  his  battle-axe  flashed  death  in  the  closing 
ranks  of  the  foe.  “  Ha !  ha  !  St.  Jacques  for  the  Holy 
Cross,”  he  shouted,  as  he  hewed  his  way  hither  and 
thither  through  the  hosts  of  Moslems,  who  now  believed 
that  he  was  the  very  St.  George,  who,  the  Christians 
boasted,  came  down  to  fight  their  battles. 

“  That  for  the  Sepulchre  !”  and  a  tall  Saracen  went 
down,  with  crushed  brain,  among  the  hoofs  of  the  horses ; 
“that  for  the  good  Saint  James,”  he  shouted,  as  the 
leader  of  his  enemies  fell  headless  before  the  sweep  of 
his  falchion;  “and  that  for  holy  Jacques,  my  patron 
saint,”  as  with  his  blade  he  made  in  the  air  the  sign  of 
the  cross,  cleaving,  as  he  brought  it  downward,  the  head, 
even  to  the  chin,  of  a  Saracen,  as  if  he  would  make  thus 
a  socket  for  the  holy  sign  to  stand  in. 

“That,  for  the  cross!  That,  for  Jerusalem!  That,  for 
King  Guy  !  and  that — and  that — and  that,  for  Jacques  de 
Maille!  Ha,  ha,  St.  Jacques,  holy  Cross  !  And  that  for 
the  dead  lady  of  my  love,  Marguerite — may  God  have 
mercy  on  her  soul !” 

The  white  horse  staggered,  as  a  javelin  went  through 
him  from  beneath,  and  now  plunged  forward,  bearing  his 
brave  rider  to  the  ground. 

Kothing  daunted,  the  knight  sprang  to  his  feet,  wav¬ 
ing  his  axe  around  his  head,  and  shouting  the  war-cry  of 
the  Templars,  as  the  steel  wrent  crushing  through  the 
dense  flesh  that  gathered  around  him.  They  lay,  heajied 
up  to  his  knees,  a  hideous  gasping  pile,  life  gurgling  out 


THE  GAT  II  EKING  ARMY. 


357 


of  their  lips  through  blood,  while  the  living  shrank  back 
aghast,  forming  a  dismayed  circle  around  him,  and  silence 
took  possession  of  the  scene.  Then  De  Maille,  bleeding 
from  twenty  wounds,  worn  out  with  the  labor  of  killing, 
fell  on  his  knee,  and  murmuring  a  prayer,  died  as  a  brave 
knight  should  die,  with  his  arm  stretched  out  to  heaven, 
and  his  face  to  his  astounded  foe. 

The  Moslems  rushed  in  on  him,  tore  his  armor  to 
pieces,  and  divided  it  among  themselves,  as  relics  of  a 
brave  man.  They  even  mutilated  his  body,  and  pre¬ 
served  portions  of  it  for  talismanic  purposes,  such  was 
their  respect  for  his  prodigious  valor.* 

This  battle  occurred,  May  1st,  1187. 

Salah-e’deen  now  advanced  into  Galilee  with  eighty 
thousand  horsemen.  The  imminent  danger  which  threat¬ 
ened  the  kingdom  united  all  the  Christian  knights. 
Even  Raymond  of  Tripoli  obeyed  the  summons  of  Guy 
to  all  Christians  to  assemble  at  Sephouri,  north  of  Naza¬ 
reth  about  five  miles,  now  called  Sefurieh. 

While  the  armies  were  gathering  here,  Salah-e’deen 
attacked  Tiberias,  and  captured  the  city.  The  citadel 
held  out  against  him,  defended  by  Raymond’s  brave 
wife. 

Fifty  thousand  Christian  troops  were  gathered  at  the 
fortresses  of  Sephouri.  Had  they  remained  there  to  wait 
the  coming  of  Salah-e’deen,  the  fate  of  the  world  had 
been  different.  Raymond  strongly  counseled  it.  He 
pointed,  as  an  evidence  of  his  good  faith  in  the  advice,  to 
his  wife  now  in  prison  at  Tiberias,  to  whose  rescue  he 
would  gladly  march,  but  that  he  believed  it  fatal  to  the 
hopes  of  Jerusalem  to  advance  on  the  plain  with  this 

*  Quidam  vero,  ut  fama  ferebat,  ardentius  caeteris  movebatur,  et 
abscissis  viri  genitalibus,  ea  tanquam  in  usum  gignendi  reservare  de- 
posuit,  ut  vel  mortua  membra,  si  fieri  posset,  virtutis  tantae  suscitarent 
haeredem.  Collection  of  Bongars,  p.  1151.  Cited  by  Michaud. 


«r* 


358  RAYMOND  AND  THE  GRAND  MASTER. 

army,  to  raise  which  had  exhausted  the  powers  of  the 
kingdom. 

The  grand-master  of  the  Templars,  who,  two  months 
before  that  day,  had  fled  from  the  field  of  Tabor,  and 
with  two  of  his  knights,  alone  survived  the  slaughter  that 
was  ended  with  the  fall  of  De  Maille,  called  Raymond  a 
traitor  to  his  face,  and  ridiculed  his  advice. 

“  I  swear,  before  God  and  man,  that  I  am  willing  to 
lose  Tripoli,  and  all  that  I  possess  on  earth,  if  wTe  may 
only  secure  the  safety  of  the  holy  city,”  said  Raymond. 

“We  have  seen  wolves  in  sheep’s  clothing,”  sneered 
the  grand-master  of  the  Templars. 

“  I  call  him  who  died  on  the  cross  to  witness  my  sin¬ 
cerity,”  said  the  Count  of  Tripoli. 

“  The  name  of  Mohammed  would  sound  better  on  the 
lips  of  a  traitor,”  said  the  Templar. 

To  this  Raymond,  nobly  resolving  not  to  open  a  private 
quarrel  then,  made  no  reply.  Evil  counsels  prevailed, 
and  the  army  advanced  toward  Tiberias.  All  the  nobles 
and  knights,  except  the  Templar,  agreed  with  Raymond, 
but  Guy  yielded  to  him,  and  they  advanced  with  a  cer¬ 
tainty  of  defeat  and  death. 

To  the  north-east  of  Tabor,  on  the  left  of  our  path  that 
day  to  Tiberias,  is  a  great  plain,  above  which  rises  a  con¬ 
spicuous  hill,  known  as  the  Mountain  of  Christ’s  Sermon, 
or  the  Mount  of  Beatitudes.  The  Arabs  called  it  in 
those  days,  as  now,  Tell-el-Hattin.  This  hill  covered  the 
left  of  the  Christian  host  as  they  advanced. 

The  Moslems  were  on  the  heights  that  crown  the  west¬ 
ern  bank  of  the  sea  of  Galilee,  north  of  Tiberias,  and  were 
scattered  through  all  the  passes  and  defiles,  so  that  as 
soon  as  the  Christians  were  fairly  advanced  on  the  plain, 
the  great  number  of  the  enemy,  and  their  skill  as  horse¬ 
men,  enabled  them  to  surround  the  army  of  Guy,  and 
pour  on  them  unceasing  volleys  of  arrows. 


THE  BATTLE. 


359 


It  was  the  morning  of  July  4th,  1187,  that  the  Christ¬ 
ians  advanced  over  the  plain.  Annoyed  by  the  shafts  of 
the  Saracens,  and  their  constant  sallies  on  both  flanks, 
they  yet  advanced  steadily  to  the  middle  of  the  plain,  in¬ 
tending  to  cut  their  way  through  the  ranks  of  the  enemy, 
and  gain  the  shore  of  the  sea. 

It  was  here  that  Salah-e’deen  came  down  on  them  like 
a  thunderbolt,  at  the  head  of  twenty  thousand  horsemen. 
It  was  one  of  the  most  terrible  charges  on  record.  But 
the  Christians,  closing  up  their  ranks,  received  it  as  the 
rock  receives  the  sea,  and  it  went  back  like  the  foam. 

Now  high  up  among  the  Christian  host,  the  Holy  Cross 
itself  was  elevated,  and  men  knew  for  what  they  were  to 
fight  and  die.  Around  it,  to  use  the  words  of  Salah-e’deen 
himself,  they  gathered  with  the  utmost  bravery  and  devo¬ 
tion,  as  if  they  believed  it  their  greatest  blessing,  strong¬ 
est  bond  of  union,  and  sure  defence.  The  battle  became 
general.  On  all  sides  the  foe  pressed  the  brave  knights 
and  their  followers.  The  latter  fell  by  hundreds,  from 
exhaustion  and  thirst,. for  they  had  been  short  of  bread 
and  water  for  a  week. 

Twice  did  Salah-e’deen*  repeat  that  tremendous  charge, 
penetrating  into  the  ranks  of  his  enemies,  and  fighting 
his  way  out  again  without  breaking  their  array. 

Night  came  down  on  the  battle-field  while  its  fate  was 
yet  undetermined,  and  they  rested  for  the  morrow. 

What  wild,  despairing  prayers  went  up  to  God  before 
the  Cross  of  Christ  that  night,  we  may  not  know,  until 
those  vials  of  the  elders  shall  be  opened. 

Long  before  day,  by  the  admirable  disposition  of  his 
army,  Salah-e’deen  had  decided  the  battle  even  before  it 
was  fought. 

*  It  is  difficult  to  tell  from  the  expressions  of  the  chroniclers,  whether 
Salah-e’deen  led  these  charges  in  person  or  not,  although  the  inference 
would  seem  to  be  that  he  did. 


360 


THE  BATTLE. 


But  he  had  not  decided  how  many  of  his  host  were  to 
be  slain  on  the  soil  of  Galilee  by  the  swords  of  the  Christ¬ 
ians. 

As  the  day  advanced,  the  two  armies  beheld  each  other. 
Salah-e’deen  waited  till  the  sun  was  up,  and  then  “the 
sons  of  heaven,  and  the  children  of  fire,  fought  their  great 
battle.” 

The  Christians  fought  as  they  were  accustomed.  Their 
heat  and  thirst  were  terrible,  and  increased  by  the  enemy 
setting  fire  to  the  dry  bush  and  grass,  from  which  the 
strong  wind  blew  a  dense  smoke  toward  them,  nearly 
suffocating  them. 

The  scene  was  like  a  very  hell ;  knights  and  devils  con¬ 
tending  among  flames.  Again  and  again,  the  bands  of 
Templars  threw  themselves  on  the  Saracen  front,  and  en¬ 
deavored  to  pierce  their  way  through  its  steel  wall,  to 
reach  the  citadel  of  Tiberias,  but  in  vain.  The  cry  of  the 
battle-field  went  up,  among  smoke  and  flame,  before  God, 
and  he  permitted  the  end  to  come.  “  Holy  Cross !” 
shouted  the  grand-master  of  the  Templars,  as  he  fought 
his  way  toward  the  banner  of  the  kalif,  followed  by  his 
brave  knights.  “  Raymond  for  the  Sepulchre  !”  rang  over 
the  clash  of  steel  in  the  front  of  the  battle.  “  Ha !  Ha ! 
Renaud  —  Renaud  —  Chantillon  —  Carrac —  K o  rescue ! 
Strike,  strike !”  shouted  the  proud  retainers  of  the  old 
knight,  who  were  revelling  in  the  blood  of  the  conflict. 

By  this  time,  in  the  centre  of  the  field,  the  fight  had 
grown  thickest  and  most  fierce  around  the  True  Cross, 
which  was  upheld  on  a  slight  eminence  by  the  bishop  of 
Ptolemais.  Around  it  the  bravest  knights  were  collected. 
There,  Geoffrey  of  Lusignan,  brother  to  the  king,  per¬ 
formed  miracles  of  valor,  and  the  Knights  of  the  Temple, 
and  the  Knights  of  St.  John,  vied  with  each  other  in 
bravery.  As  the  fray  grew  darker,  and  shafts  flew  swifter 
around  them,  and  one  by  one  they  fell  down  before  the 


St.  GEORGE! 


361 


lioly  wood,  the  stern,  calm  voice  of  the  bishop  was  heard, 
chanting  “De  profundis  clamavi  ad  te  Domine,  Domine 
exaudi  vocem  meam !”  in  tones  that  overpowered  the  din 
of  battle,  and  reached  the  ears  of  the  dying  even  as  they 
departed.  Nearest  of  all  to  the  cross,  was  a  man  wield¬ 
ing  a  sword  which  had  already  done  fearful  work  on  the 
Saracens.  The  sign  on  his  back  was  not  sufficient  to  dis¬ 
tinguish  him  from  other  soldiers,  but  they  who  fought  by 
his  side  well  knew  the  brave  precentor  of  the  Sepulchre, 
Bishop  of  Lydda,  the  city  of  St.  George.  How  many 
souls  he  had  sent  to  hell  that  day  it  is  impossible  to  re¬ 
late.  He  and  four  others  remained  around  the  old  Bishop 
of  Ptolemais,  who  was  fainting  for  loss  of  blood ;  for 
many  arrows  had  pierced  him,  and  his  life  was  fast  fail- 

Iing.  “  Bohemond  for  the  Cross !”  shouted  the  young 
Prince  of  Antioch,  as  he  swept  the  Paynims  down  by 
scores.  “  St.  George  !  St.  George  !”  shouted  the  holy 
bishop,  his  bright  eye  flashing  around  him.  He  caught 
sight  of  the  tottering  Cross,  as  the  Bishop  of  Ptolemais 
went  down  dead.  Springing  toward  it,  he  seized  it  with 
his  left  arm,  and  with  prodigious  strength  threw  himself 
into  the  faces  of  the  foe.  The  lightning  is  not  more  fierce 
and  fast  than  were  the  blows  of  his  sword,  as  he  hewed  his 
way  along,  followed  by  Bohemond  of  Antioch,  and  Renaud 
of  Sidon,  and  one  unknown  Knight  of  the  Temple.  The 
latter  pressed  forward  to  the  side  of  the  brave  bishop. 
Bohemond  and  Renaud  were  separated  from  them,  but 
the  two  fought  on  alone,  in  the  midst  of  thousands  of 
their  enemies. 

At  length  the  unequal  contest  was  well-nigh  over. 

The  eye  of  Salah-e’deen  was  fixed  on  the  dense  mass 
that  surrounded  the  cross.  He  smiled  bitterly  as  he  saw 
it  trembling  and  ready  to  fall  from  the  hands  of  the  gal¬ 
lant  bishop,  who  held  it  with  his  left  arm,  while  with  his 
right  he  cursed  the  Infidels  with  the  curse  of  steel,  that 


362  LAST  KNIGHT  AT  THE  CROSSl 

damned  them  then,  there,  and  forever.  Well  might  the 
Soldan  believe  that  as  long  as  he  held  that  holy  wood,  so 
long  his  mighty  arm  would  remain  strong,  and  blood  re¬ 
place  in  his  brave  heart  the  floods  that  issued  from  his 
wounds.  But  he  grew  faint  at  length,  and  yet  shouting 
in  clear  tones,  “  St.  George !  St.  George !”  knelt  down  by 
the  cross,  shielded  by  the  stout  arm  of  the  brave  Tem¬ 
plar,  who  fought  above  him,  unwounded  and  undaunted, 
though  he  now  found  himself  last  knight  at  the  cross  of 
his  Lord. 

One  glance  of  his  eye  over  the  plain  told  him  that  all 
was  lost ;  and  nothing  now  remained  for  him  but  to  die 
bravely  for  God  and  for  Jerusalem.  Far  over  the  field, 
above  the  summit  of  the  Mount  of  Transfiguration,  he 
beheld  the  heavens  opened,  and  saw  the  gates  of  pearl. 
Clear  and  distinct  above  the  clash  of  arms  and  loud  cries 
of  the  field  of  blood,  he  heard  the  voices  of  the  angels 
singing  triumphant  songs.  So  he  took  courage  as  the 
darkness  of  the  battle  gathered  blacker  around  him. 

For  now,  as  the  Bishop  of  Lydda  fell  prostrate  on  the 
ground,  the  cross  had  nearly  fallen,  and  the  Paynims, 
raising  a  shout  of  triumph,  rushed  in  on  their  solitary  foe. 
But  they  rushed  through  the  gates  of  hell,  sheer  down 
the  depths  of  death,  to  everlasting  perdition.  Down 
came  the  flashing  axe  on  head,  and  shoulder,  and  limb ; 
down  through  eyes,  and  chin,  and  breast ;  so  that  when 
they  went  to  Hades  in  that  plight,  their  prophet  had  dif¬ 
ficulty  in  recognizing  them  even  as  of  mortal  shape. 

The  dead  lay  all  around  him.  He  trod  down  his  iron 
heel  in  their  faces,  and  crushed  it  in  their  chests,  and 
laughed  as  he  dealt  those  more  than  human  blows  with  cool, 
calm  aim,  but  lightning  force  and  velocity.  No  sound 
but  the  clashing  steel  was  heard  in  this  part  of  the  plain, 
where  for  a  while  it  appeared  as  if  the  saint  of  the  fallen 


THE  CROSS  IS  LOST. 


363 


bishop  were  standing  over  him  in  arms  for  the  cause  of 
the  Sepulchre. 

But  every  inch  of  his  armor  bristled  with  arrows  that 
were  drinking  his  blood ;  a  well  sped  javelin  had  made 
a  hideous  opening  in  his  throat,  and  the  foam  from  his 
lips  was  dropping  red  on  his  steel  breastplate. 

Looking  up  once  more,  far  over  hill  and  plain,  he  saw 
again  the  battlements  of  heaven,  and  a  shining  company 
that  were  approaching  even  to  his  very  front.  The  bat¬ 
tle-field  was  visible  no  longer ;  but  close  beside  him  the 
divine  eyes  of  the  Virgin  Mother  were  fixed  on  him  with 
the  same  look  that  she  of  old  fixed  on  that  cross  when 
holier  blood  than  his  ran  down  its  beam.  But  that  was 
not  all  that  he  saw. 

There  was  a  hideous  sin  on  the  soul  of  the  Knight  of  the 
Cross.  To  expiate  that  sin  he  had  long  ago  left  the  fair  land 
of  France,  where  he  had  lordly  possessions,  to  become  an 
unknown  brother  of  the  order  of  the  Temple.  And  now 
through  the  fast-gathering  gloom  he  saw  the  face  of  that 
one  so  beloved  and  so  wronged,  as  she  lay  on  the  very 
breast  of  the  matchless  Virgin ;  and  the  radiance  of  her 
countenance  was  the  smile  of  heaven.  Though  he  saw  all 
this,  the  gallant  knight  fought  on,  and  his  swift  falchion 
flashed  steadfastly  above  the  melee.  But  then  there  was 
a  sudden  pause :  his  lost  love  lay  warm  and  close  on  his 
breast,  lay  clasped  in  his  arms,  on  his  heart  of  hearts ! 
He  murmured  a  name  long  forbidden  to  his  priestly  lips, 
and  then,  waking  one  instant  to  the  scene  around  him,  he 
sprang  at  the  throat  of  a  Saracen,  grasped  it  with  his  stif¬ 
fening  fingers,  and  the  soul  of  the  Paynim  went  out  with 
his,  as  he  departed  to  join  the  great  assembly  of  the  sol¬ 
diers  of  the  Cross.  So  the  cross  was  lost  on  the  field  of 
Galilee. 

Guy  of  Lusignan,  eighth  and  last  king  of  Jerusalem, 
with  a  small  band  of  faithful  knights,  still  held  his  ground 


364 


FATE  OF  THE  CROSS. 


on  the  hill  of  Hattin.  When  the  cross  vanished  from  the 
field,  a  wail  of  anguish  rose  from  all  the  plain,  and  quiv¬ 
ered  in  the  air  at  the  very  gates  of  the  celestial  city. 
Raymond  of  Tripoli  and  Renaud  of  Sidon  cut  their  way 
through  the  ranks  of  Saracens  and  escaped  around  the 
fort  of  Mount  Tabor  to  Ptolemais.  All  the  rest  that 
were  living  fell  into  the  hands  of  Salah-e’deen ;  and  the 
next  day,  with  his  own  sword,  he  executed  his  threatened 
vengeance  on  Reginald  of  Chantillon,  hewing  him  down 
to  the  ground,  and  leaving  him  to  be  despatched  by  his 
followers.  The  fearful  sacrifice  which  he  then  made  of 
the  Templars ;  how  they  crowded  to  it,  and  others  sought 
to  be  included  in  the  martyrdom,  is  a  well  known  page 
of  history.  Not  so  the  statement  of  an  old  chronicler, 
that  “  during  the  three  following  nights,  when  the  bodies 
of  the  holy  martyrs  were  lying  still  unburied,  a  ray  of 
celestial  light  shone  over  them  from  above.”* 

The  cross  which  was  lost  on  this  field  was  never  regained 
by  Christians.  It  remained  for  some  time  in  the  custody 
of  Salah-e’deen,  and  a  few  years  later,  that  is  in  a.d.  1192, 
the  same  chronicler  describes  the  visits  of  pilgrims  to  Je¬ 
rusalem,  where  they  were  allowed  by  the  kalif  “  to  have 
a  sight  of  the  holy  cross.”  f 

Later  than  this  I  have  not  attempted  to  trace  its  history. 

I  have  not  detained  the  reader  on  Mount  Tabor  any 
longer  than  I  rested  there  myself.  In  fact  so  interesting 
was  the  view  that  I  found  great  difficulty  in  tearing  the 
party  away. 

The  descent  of  the  mountain,  while  it  was  much  more 
rapid  than  the  ascent,  was  no  less  dangerous.  One  of  the 
horses  had  a  bad  fall,  and  I  came  near  breaking  my  own 
neck  twice  before  I  reached  the  foot. 

We  rode  slowly  across  the  plain  toward  the  sea  of 
Galilee,  which,  of  course,  was  not  within  sight,  on  account 

*  Geoff,  de  YinsaufJ  ch.  v.  f  Geoff,  de  Vinsauf^  ch.  xxxiv. 


BEDOUINS. 


365 


of  the  depth  at  which  it  lies  in  its  basin,  below  the  sur¬ 
rounding  table-land. 

As  we  approached  the  brow  of  the  sharp  descent  of 
the  basin,  not  yet  looking  over  it  to  the  blue  sea,  we  saw 
two  Bedouins  riding  swiftly  from  the  northward  down  the 
slope  of  the  ridge,  as  if  to  intercept  us.  Whitely  and 
myself  were  half  a  mile  in  advance  of  the  party,  riding  on 
at  a  fast  walk,  anxious  to  see  the  waters  of  the-  lake.  We 
did  not  pay  special  attention  to  the  Arabs  except  to  re¬ 
mark  the  flashing  of  their  spears  in  the  sunlight,  which 
we  saw  at  more  than  two  miles’  distance,  but  when  they 
paused  in  the  road  before  us,  just  where  it  breaks  off 
from  the  plain  and  begins  to  fall  toward  the  sea,  we 
looked  to  our  pistols,  loosened  them  quietly  in  our  shawls, 
and  though  neither  of  us  intimated  any  apprehension  of 
trouble  to  the  other  until  afterward,  yet  we  both  believed 
that  they  intended  an  attack. 

They  stood,  one  on  each  side  of  the  path,  their  horses’ 
heads  facing  us,  and  their  spears  leaning  toward  each 
other,  so  as  to  form  a  sort  of  arch,  high  enough  for  us  to 
pass  under.  Our  walking  pace  we  had  increased  to  a 
slow  gallop,  and  as  we  came  up  with  them  we  took  care 
to  let  our  arms  be  very  conspicuous.  Whether  they  had 
intended  an  attack  I  can  not  say.  If  they  had,  the  array 

v  ^ 

of  pistol-handles  was  too  alarming.  I  saluted  one  as  I 
came  up,  and  Whitely  the  other,  with  the  Syrian  Mar- 
haba  (blessing  on  you),  and  they  replied  with  the  same, 
reining  back  their  horses  and  giving  us  free  way  to  go  by 
without  breaking  our  gallop. 

Not  wishing  to  leave  them  on  the  road  for  the  annoy¬ 
ance  of  the  rest  of  the  party,  I  wheeled  and  rode  back  to 
them,  with  an  authoritative  “  Enta  men  ?”  (who  are  you  ?) 
Their  reply  was  satisfactory.  They  were  looking  for 
blood  revenge.  An  errand  on  which  most  Arabs  are  oc¬ 
cupied  all  their  lives. 


366 


\ 


THE  SEA  OF  GALILEE. 

While  I  talked  with  them,  a  boy  came  up  swiftly,  on 
foot,  armed  with  a  gigantic  Mameluke  pistol,*  and  in¬ 
formed  them  that  he  had  seen  a  party  of  Bedouins  over 
toward  Mount  Tabor,  whereupon  they  went  otf  at  a  gal¬ 
lop,  leaving  us  with  the  boy.  He  told  us  that  his  brother 
had  been  shot  the  day  previous,  and  these  men  were  in 
pursuit  of  his  murderers,  as  he  and  all  the  tribe  also 
were.  Their  tents  were  down  by  the  lake,  two  miles  be¬ 
low  Tiberias. 

By  this  time  the  whole  party  had  come  up,  and  we 
rode  on  a  hundred  yards  to  the  brow  of  the  steep  part  of 
the  basin.  There,  far  down  below  us,  supremely  beauti¬ 
ful,  lay  the  sea  of  Galilee,  a  sapphire  set  in  emeralds. 

We  were  five  hundred  feet  above  it,  and  the  descent 
was  steep  and  difficult.  Bight  underneath  us  was  Tiberias, 
with  its  ruined  walls  and  falling  houses,  a  melancholy  wreck 
of  former  beauty  and  splendor.  Our  tents  were  pitched 
on  the  shore  just  outside  of  the  walls  on  the  south  side  of 
the  city.  The  blue  water  rippled  up  to  the  edge  of  the 
canvas,  and  the  path  of  the  rising  moon  lay  across  it,  as 
if  we  could  see  the  very  footsteps  of  the  Lord. 

We  walked  along  the  shore  till  nearly  midnight,  throw¬ 
ing  pebbles  into  the  sea,  and  watching  the  circles  spreading 
over  the  lake.  What  scene  on  earth’s  surface  can  be  im¬ 
agined  more  divinely  beautiful  than  moonlight  on  the 
sea  of  Galilee.  The  hushed  air  seemed  heavy  with  the 
presence  of  angels.  The  very  heavens  bent  down,  as  if 
they  loved  the  spot,  and  the  stars  came  low  to  look  on 
their  own  thrones  reflected  in  its  calm  surface. 

In  times  of  tempestuous  sorrow,  such  as  all  men  have 
known,  I  had  dreamed  of  the  sea  of  Galilee.  In  hours 
of  passion,  such  as  human  nature  is  liable  to  fall  into,  I 
had  hushed  my  heart  by  the  fancied  voices  of  the  wind 
over  its  waves.  In  feverish  visions,  when  the  phantoms 
of  disease  made  my  brain  wild,  and  all  manner  of  hideous 


PEACE!  BE  STILL!- 


367 


imaginings  came  to  frighten  and  madden  me,  when  the 
faces  of  friends  assumed  the  features  of  devils,  and  even 
the  best  beloved  of  faces  put  on  a  worse  than  Medusa-like 
countenance,  I  have  calmed  the  fever  and  restored  the 
healthy  action  of  my  brain,  by  simple  firmness  in  thinking 
of  the  murmur  of  the  ripples  that  broke  on  its  beach, 
whose  music,  I  have  often  thought,  must  be  nearer  the 
sounds  of  heaven  than  any  other  this  side  the  upper  blue. 
And  now  I  found  it  even  so ;  and  as  we  sat  down  by  the 
shore  of  the  sea  that  night  and  listened  in  silence  to  its 
voice  on  the  pebbles  at  our  feet,  all  human  passions  and 
emotions  were  at  rest,  our  souls  were  hushed,  the  “peace! 
be  still”  of  his  voice  was  audible  as  of  old,  and  our  hearts 
heard  it  and  were  calm. 

Let  him  who  ridicules  the  idea  that  there  is  hallowed 
ground,  sit  down  by  the  sea  of  Galilee  in  the  light  of  the 
moon  and  stars,  and  if  his  soul  denies  the  influences  that 
are  on  the  sea,  and  in  the  air,  around,  above,  and  within 
him,  I  am  content  that  he  shall  take  his  verdict.  The 
man  does  not  live  that  can  laugh  at  the  story  of  the  Pas¬ 
sion,  seated  in  Gethsemane,  nor  who  can  forget  the  bless¬ 
ing  of  the  pure  in  heart  on  the  moonlit  shore  of  Gen- 
nesaret. 

When  I  was  a  boy  in  the  up-country  (how  often  I  wrote 
that  same  sentence,  and  uttered  it  aloud  in  Holy  Land — 
it  was  so  strange  that  I — that  boy — was  wandering  among 
Bedouins  in  the  land  of  the  Lord),  when  I  was  a  boy,  there 
was  an  old  man,  a  good  and  kind  old  man,  who  was  accus¬ 
tomed  to  come  once  a  week  to  the  old  house,  and  always 
to  take  me  on  his  lap,  and,  in  a  broad  Scotch  tongue,  to 
say  to  me,  “  Wully,  Wully”  (yes,  I  was  the  Willy,  I,  the 
black-bearded  horseman — whom  the  Arabs  knew  as  Bra- 
heem  Effendi — was  the  boy  Willy,  who  looked  in  wonder¬ 
ment  at  the  old  man  who  had  come  from  “ayant  the 
seas”) ;  he  would  say,  “Wully,  when  ye’re  grawn  to  be 


t 


368 


THE  OLD  MAN’S  MEMORY. 


a  mon,  mayhap  ye’ll  go  a  wanderin’  np  and  doon  the 
hills  of  the  warld.  But  doan  ye  forgit  that  gin  ye’re 
theersty,  there ’s  the  sea  o’  Galilee,  and  gin  ye  ’re  hungry, 
there ’s  the  loaves  that  fed  feeve  thoosand  there  by  the 
sea,  and  when  ye  get  tired  and  tired  out,  and  want  to 
lay  your  head  doon  on  any  stoun  and  rest  it,  but  the 
stouns  are  all  hard,  there ’s  Heem  that  sayed  on  the  same 
sea,  ‘  Cume  unto  me  all  ye  that  labor,  and  are  heevy  laden, 
and  I  wull  geeve  ye  rest.’  ” 

Through  what  long  years  of  wandering  my  memory 
went  back  to  the  old  man’s  voice  and  the  old  man’s  face. 
Long  ago  he,  having  well  done  the  labor  of  living,  entered 
the  promised  rest,  and  found  the  sea  of  heaven  broader, 
and  deeper,  and  fuller  than  even  he  had  dreamed.  The 
wild  March  winds  were  blowing  over  his  grave,  that  grave 
that  holds,  as  well,  the  brown  locks  of  his  darling  Jeannie, 
Jeannie  Stuart  of  holy  memory,  and  the  wail  of  the  tem¬ 
pest  among  the  pine-trees  around  them  does  not  disturb 
their  profound  peace.  And  I — how  changed — with  fore¬ 
head  already  in  early  manhood  marked  with  care  and  sor¬ 
row,  weary  long  ago,  but  for  the  joy  of  pleasant  company 
along  the  uncertain  and  varying  path  of  life,  I  sat  by  the 
Gennesaret  of  Galilee  on  earth  and  thought  of  them  in 
the  land  of  eternal,  and  holy  waters:  Galilee  beyond  Jor¬ 
dan  of  the  Gentiles  that  are  saved  ! 

I  lay  down  in  my  tent  to  sleep,  but  the  murmur  of  the 
waves  invited  me,  and  I  could  not  resist.  I  stepped  out¬ 
side  the  tent,  and  all  was  silent,  still,  and  gloriously  beau¬ 
tiful.  The  white  moonlight  lay  on  the  ruined  walls  of 
Tiberias,  and  on  our  group  of  tents,  and  on  the  blue  sea. 
A  dozen  Bedouins  lay  sleeping  near  the  camp  fire,  and 
the  servants  and  muleteers,  rolled  up  in  their  heavy 
boornooses,  had  forgotten  the  pilgrims. 

I  walked  slowly  down  into  the  sea.  The  clear  water 
flashed  like  diamonds  around  me  as  I  lay  down  in  it,  and 


SLEEP.  369 

it  closed  over  me,  and  then  I  floated  on  the  motionless 
surface. 

After  that  baptism,  I  slept  such  peaceful  sleep  as  no 
man  can  know  of  that  has  not  done  even  as  I. 

16* 


SbiptofedieO  oi)  Sqliiee- 


Were  you  ever  cast  away  on  the  sea  of  Galilee  ? 

Riding  in  the  railway  carriage  from  Lausanne  to  Lake 
Neuchatel  one  day  last  summer,  I  was  thoroughly  annoyed 
by  a  man  of  the  genus  American,  species  ass,  sub-species 
dandy,  who  had  seen  a  part  of  Europe,  and,  in  virtue 
thereof,  was  acting  the  courier  to  two  ladies  and  a  gentle¬ 
man  of  quiet  demeanor,  late  arrivals  from  the  West,  who 
were  seriously  impressed  with  the  young  man’s  “  traveled 
accomplishments.”  I  was  talking  quietly  enough  on  my 
side  with  an  English  friend,  but  my  vis-a-vis,  for  the  dandy 
sat  facing  me,  was  one  of  those  people  who  demand  the 
audience  of  all  within  earshot.  He  talked  me  down  with 
his  wonderful  adventures  in  Milan  and  Venice,  Vienna 
and  Berlin,  manifestly  thinking  us  excelled  in  greenness 
only  by  his  own  companions.  Miriam  was  the  only  other 
person  in  the  carriage,  and  she  was  buried  deep  in  a  late 
American  paper. 

I  pursued  my  way  as  well  I  was  able,  talking  in  the  ear 
of  my  friend,  who  had  been  like  myself  something  of  a 
wanderer,  and,  at  length,  as  there  was  a  sudden  lull  in  the 
storm  of  words,  I  heard  myself  saying  aloud,  “  It  was  the 
day  after  I  was  cast  away  on  the  sea  of  Galilee — ”  See¬ 
ing  the  start  of  astonishment  which  the  words  caused,  I 
lowered  my  voice  to  the  end  of  my  remark. 


SHIPWRECKED  ON  GALILEE. 


371 


The  effect  of  my  observation,  however,  had  been  pro¬ 
digious.  It  was  vain  to  attempt  a  continuation  of  con¬ 
versation  with  my  friend  when  such  a  battery  of  eyes  and 
mouths  were  leveled  on  me,  for  my  countrywomen  stared 
with  their  fine  eyes  as  they  have  license  always  to  do, 
and  the  dandy  was  seized  with  a  collapse  of  the  lower 
jaw  that  was,  for  the  moment,  alarming. 

I  looked  out  of  the  window — spoke  in  French  to  my 
friend — did  all  I  could  to  make  them  think  they  were  mis¬ 
taken,  and  finally  took  to  grunting  Arabic,  but  all  in 
vain.  My  New  York  elderly  gentleman  had  made  up 
his  mind — 

“Ah — excuse  me — sir.  I  think  you  are  an  English¬ 
man.” 

“No,  saar.” 

“  Ah — but  you  speak  English.” 

“  A  little.” 

“All — I  beg  pardon  sir — but  one  meets  with  such 
curious  incidents  in  traveling.  I  thought  I  heard  you 
make  such  a  very  singular  remark  just  now.  Were  you 
really  ever  cast  away  on  the  sea  of  Galilee,  sir  ?” 

Miriam  opened  her  eyes,  looked  at  him  and  the  ladies, 
and  subsided  into  quiet  as  I  replied, 

“  Yes,  saar.” 

“  Upon  my  word,  it  is  the  most  curious  circumstance  I 
have  ever  met  with — extraordinary — wife — Susan.  Did 
you  hear  this  gentleman  remark  that  he  had  been  ship¬ 
wrecked  on  the  sea  of  Galilee  ?” 

“  Was  it  in  a  steamer,  sir  ?”  asked  Susan,  with  more  of 
wickedness  than  ignorance  in  her  eyes.  And  so  I  was  in 
for  it,  and  she  pumped  me  dry  before  we  reached  So- 
leure,  whither  we  were  all  bound — and  she  left  me  the 
comfort  of  only  this  reflection,  that,  until  they  see  this, 
if  they  ever  do  see  it,  they  will  imagine  their  traveling 
companion  was  Braheem  Effendi,  a  Turk,  and  the  son  of  a 


372 


THE  FISHERMAN’S  BOAT. 

Turk,  Moslem  and  Hajji,  whose  ignorance  about  America 
it  was  their  delight  to  enlighten.  Susan  was  pretty, 
though. 

There  is  but  one  boat  on  the  sea  of  Galilee.  A  crazy 
old  craft,  built  with  a  high,  sharp  bow,  and  a  high,  sharp 
stern,  carrying  one  mast  and  a  latteen  sail,  bent  Egypt¬ 
ian  fashion,  on  a  long  yard.  Her  model  would  be  well 
enough  if  she  were  thirty  feet  long  and  the  same  width 
as  now.  But  being  only  about  fifteen,  and  nearly  as 
wide,  she  is  something  like  a  whale-boat  shut  up  two- 
thirds  of  its  length,  spyglass  fashion,  or  a  tub  elongated 
a  little  into  a  two-pointed  vessel.  But  she  has  the  ad¬ 
vantage  of  being  very  broad,  very  deep,  and  very  safe. 
There  is  no  danger  of  carrying  too  much  sail  on  her. 
Canvas  being  unknown,  her  sail  was  a  ragged  piece  of 
cotton  cloth,  of  which  at  least  one  third  was  missing  in 
spots,  so  that  the  worst  that  could  be  apprehended  from 
a  gale  was  a  ripping  of  the  rest,  and  a  total  “  solution  of 
its  continuity.”  For  oars  she  had  one  sweep,  twelve 
feet  long,  which  had  wandered  over  here  from  Haifa,  and 
another  broken  piece  of  one,  the  fragment  being,  say, 
seven  feet  long.  The  boat  was  built  as  I  had  seen  boats 
in  Nubia,  where  timber  is  scarce.  Much  ingenuity  had 
been  practiced  in  putting  her  together,  for  her  planking 
consisted  of  small  hewn  pieces  of  wood,  of  various  sorts 
and  shapes,  roughly  but  perfectly  adapted  to  their 
several  places  and  to  each  other  with  an  ax  or  similar 
weapon.  It  was,  in  fact,  just  such  a  boat  as  a  man 
would  be  apt  to  build  who  was  set  to  work  to  construct 
one  with  an  axe  and  some  nails  for  his  tools,  and  a  pile  of 
sawed  and  split  fire-wood  for  his  timber. 

Immediately  on  our  arrival,  we  sent  to  the  proprietor 
of  this  craft  to  forbid  his  departure  on  any  expedition. 

Our  Scottish  friends,  having  arrived  a  little  before  us, 
had  already  secured  the  boat,  and  very  kindly  sent  us 


SIMON  PETER’S  SUCCESSOR. 


373 


word  that  there  was  ample  room  for  all  of  us.  It  is  ex¬ 
ceeding  pleasant  to  remember  the  frequent  interchanges 
of  courtesy  with  Dr.  Bonar  and  his  party,  which  con¬ 
tinued  so  long  as  our  routes  lay  together.  Many  deli¬ 
cious  noonings  we  had  together,  when  we  paused  for 
luncheon  on  hill-side  or  under  rock-shadows. 

The  successor  of  the  fishermen  of  Galilee  was  a  tall, 
gaunt,  hard-featured  Arab,  or  fellah,  who  had  Bedouin 
connections,  and  not  one  whom  we  could  have  selected 
for  any  resemblance  to  Peter.  He  wore  a  blue  shirt, 
loose  drawers,  white  once,  years  ago,  but  woefully  muddy 
now,  and  a  turban  that  looked  like  the  habitation  of  col¬ 
onies  of  insects.  He  had  two  young  men,  boys  rather, 
for  his  assistants,  that  appeared  as  little  likelyjto  grow  to 
the  dignity  of  apostleship,  as  he.  But  who  can  tell? 
The  camel-driver  of  Mecca  was  not  less  villainous  in 
origin,  and  he  rules,  even  now,  as  no  man  or  God  rules  the 
souls  of  men,  and  is  obeyed  with  a  devotion  that  Christ¬ 
ians  might  imitate  with  benefit.  Little  did  Sheik  Ibrahim 
know  or  care  for  the  mighty  men  of  ancient  times  who 
had  preceded  him,  in  the  humble  occupation  of  fisher¬ 
men  of  Galilee.  He  never  heard  the  voice  of  the  Lord 
walking  on  the  waters,  nor  dreamed,  on  stormy  days,  of 
the  power  that  calmed  the  waves  of  that  sea. 

In  point  of  fact,  Sheik  Ibrahim  never  had  been  caught 
out  in  a  storm,  and  in  all  his  life  passed  on  the  sea  he  had 
never  left  the  land  when  there  wTas  the  faintest  shadow 
of  a  cloud  over  head,  or  more  than  a  child’s  breath  of 
wind  on  the  water. 

But  he  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  the  Philistines 
when  he  let  his  boat  to  us,  for  we  were  no  longshore¬ 
men,  and  were  not  given  to  asking  beforehand  what  the 
weather  would  be.  He  brought  the  boat  around  the 
tower,  at  which  the  south  wall  of  Tiberias  ends  in  the 
sea,  and  as  she  was  too  deep  to  reach  the  shore,  he  and 


ON  THE  SEA. 


3'74 

his  Arabs  carried  the  gentlemen  into  the  boat.  I  had 
learned  in  Egypt  to  have  a  horror  of  just  that  sort  of 
personal  contact,  and  preferred  to  wade  off  myself. 

Miriam  did  not  wish  to  go  with  us,  but  preferred  re¬ 
maining  at  the  tents,  and  strolling  through  Tiberias.  I 
left  Abd-el-Atti,  therefore,  with  her,  and,  with  Dr.  Bonar 
and  two  of  his  party,  we  made  a  company  of  six  in  the 
boat,  beside  the  three  fishermen. 

We  got  away  about  ten  in  the  morning.  The  sky  was 
deliciously*  beautiful,  and  the  sea  like  a  dream.  There 
was  not  a  breath  of  air  on  the  water,  and  the  sail  hung 
idly  from  the  yard,  so  that  Sheik  Ibrahim,  with  a  glance 
of  intense  satisfaction  at  the  weather,  furled  his  canvas 
in  his  own  peculiar  style  and  took  to  his  oars,  promising 
us  a  safe  and  speedy  crossing  of  the  deep. 

We  had  taken  ship  to  go  over  to  the  other  side.  Our 
object  was  a  sail  on  the  sea,  and  our  intention  to  explore 
the  opposite  shore.  But  after  our  Galileans  had  toiled , 
hard  for  one  hour,  it  was  manifest  that  they  could  not 
row  us  across  in  four  at  that  rate,  for  though  the  sea  was 
not  more  than  six  miles  wide,  we  had  not  advanced  one 
of  them  as  yet.  Of  the  beauty  of  the  scene,  however,  I 
can  not  say  enough,  nor  can  I  imagine  where  those  travel¬ 
ers  carried  their  eyes,  who  have  described  the  scenery  of 
the  lake  as  tame  or  uninteresting.  The  first  great  char¬ 
acteristic  of  it  is  the  deep  basin  in  which  it  lies.  This 
is  from  three  to  four  hundred  feet  deep  on  all  sides  ex¬ 
cept  at  the  lower  end,  and  the  sharp  slope  of  the  banks, 
which  are  all  of  the  richest  green,  is  broken  and  diversi¬ 
fied  by  the  wadys  and  water-courses  which  work  their 
way  down  through  the  sides  of  the  basin,  forming  dark 
chasms  or  light  sunny  valleys.  Near  Tiberias  these  banks 
are  rocky,  and  ancient  sepulchres  open  in  them,  with  their 
doors  toward  the  water.  They  selected  grand  spots,  as 
did  the  Egyptians  of  old,  for  burial  places,  as  if  they  de- 


THE  OUTLET  OF  THE  JORDAN. 


375 


I 

I  signed  that  when  the  voice  of  God  should  reach  the 
sleepers,  they  should  walk  forth  and  open  their  eyes  on 
scenes  of  glorious  beauty.  On  the  east,  the  wild  and  des¬ 
olate  mountains  contrast  finely  with  the  deep  blue  lake ; 
and  toward  the  north,  sublime  and  majestic,  Hermon 
looks  down  on  the  sea,  lifting  his  white  crown  to  heaven 
with  the  pride  of  a  hill  that  has  seen  the  departing  foot¬ 
steps  of  a  hundred  generations.  On  the  north-east  shore 
of  the  sea  was  a  single  tree,  doubtless  a  terebinth,  judg¬ 
ing  from  its  shape,  and  this  is  the  only  tree  of  any  size 
visible  from  the  water  of  the  lake,  except  a  few  lonely 
palms  in  the  city  of  Tiberias,  and  by  its  solitary  position 
attracts  more  attention  than  would  a  forest. 

The  whole  appearance  of  the  scene  is  precisely  what 
we  would  expect  and  desire  the  scenery  of  Gennesaret  to 
be,  grand  beauty,  but  quiet  calm.  The  very  mountains 
are  calm,  and  if  a  tempest  were  abroad  on  the  sea,  and  a 
poor  fisherman  were  storm-tossed  and  at  his  wit’s  end  with 
fear,  one  would  suppose  he  had  but  to  look  up  at  that 
lordly  head  of  Mount  Hermon,  and  hear  the  voice  of  the 
stiller  of  the  storm  lingering  around  its  stately  summit. 

A  light  breeze  springing  up  from  the  northward,  we 
determined  to  run  down  the  sea  to  the  outlet  of  the  Jor¬ 
dan.  Accordingly  we  shook  out  the  sail,  put  up  the 
helm,  all  the  helm  there  was,  and  a  very  poor  one  (but 
of  that  hereafter),  and  went  down  before  the  wind.  In 
about  an  hour  we  had  run  as  far  south  as  the  falling  ofi* 
of  the  hills,  within  a  mile  of  the  Jordan.  Here  the  wind 
failing  us,  we  went  ashore  on  the  west  bank,  and  walked 
down  to  the  outlet. 

For  nearly  two  miles  from  the  outlet,  northward,  there 
are  scattered  ruins  on  the  bank  of  the  sea,  but  these 
abound  mostly  at  the  point  where  we  landed,  and  where 
the  hills  retire  on  both  sides  of  a  level  spot,  on  which  I 
found  many  evidences  of  an  ancient  city,  walls  of  houses, 


376 


BATHING  TN  JORDAN. 


and  two  fragments  of  large  columns.  There  is  also  a  large 
ruin  of  a  stone  building  immediately  at  the  outlet,  in  a  point 
around  which  the  water  flows  as  it  leaves  the  sea.  One  side 
of  the  point  is,  in  fact,  the  sea  and  the  other  the  J ordan. 

The  exit  of  the  Jordan  from  the  sea  of  Galilee  is  ex¬ 
ceedingly  beautiful.  There  is  nothing  to  mark  it,  no 
high  hill  or  overhanging  banks,  or  trees;  but  still  the 
clear,  bright  water,  flowing  out  at  first  slowly,  as  if  re¬ 
luctant  to  leave  the  holy  lake,  and  then  running  swiftly,  as 
if  in  haste  to  rush  downward  to  the  far  ofl*  Sea  of  Death, 
is  very  beautiful.  To  enjoy  it  more  perfectly,  as  I  am 
accustomed  always  to  do  if  I  have  opportunity,  I  bathed 
in  the  lake  and  the  stream,  and  yielded  myself  to  their 
soft  influences. 

I  entered  the  lake  a  few  rods  above  the  outlet,  and 
drifted  slowly  down  into  the  stream.  It  leaves  the  lake 
by  a  course  nearly  due  west,  narrowing  at  first  to  a  width 
not  exceeding  seventy  feet,  and  here  it  rushes  swiftly 
along ;  but  immediately  below  it  spreads  out  again,  and 
runs  deep,  and  still,  and  slow. 

I  forded  it  at  the  immediate  outlet,  and  found  the  water 
in  the  deepest  part  just  up  to  my  neck,  so  that  my  beard 
lay  in  it  as  I  walked  for  a  rod  or  more.  On  the  opposite 
side,  around  the  foot  of  the  lake,  the  shore  was  very  much 
surf-beaten.  The  water  was  bold  and  deep  all  along,  and 
the  beach  covered  with  small  pebbles,  white  as  snow,  and 
worn  by  the  water  to  the  shape,  size,  and  appearance  of 
sugared  almonds,  such  as  are  common  in  candy  shops. 
The  resemblance  was  so  perfect,  that  a  handful  of  them, 
which  I  gathered  and  brought  home,  have  never  failed  to 
deceive  any  one  to  whom  I  hand  them. 

After  lingering  some  two  hours  or  more  at  this  beauti¬ 
ful  spot,  we  found  that  the  boat  had  come  on  down,  and 
was  now  near  us.  We  returned  to  her,  and  directed  our 
way  for  home. 


A  STORM  ON  THE  SEA.  3 11 

The  wind  had  now  freshened  from  the  north-west,  and 
I  saw,  in  three  minutes,  that  Sheik  Ibrahim  knew  as  little 
about  the  boat  as  he  well  could.  He  had  never  attempted  to 
sail  on  the  wind,  and  was  frightened  at  the  very  idea.  I  took 
the  helm  out  of  his  hands,  trimmed  the  rags  down  as  well 
as  I  could,  and  laid  her  as  close  as  she  would  go.  But  it 
wTas  a  dead  failure  from  the  first.  We  ran  three  or  four 
miles  up  the  west  coast  in  good  style,  and  then  there 
came  down  on  the  sea  such  a  gale  as  the  lake  knew  in 
times  of  old.  The  illustration  of  Scripture  which  we  had 
wras  worth  all  the  subsequent  annoyance  that  it  cost  ns. 
It  was  sudden,  swift,  and  violent.  A  moment  before,  we 
were  sailing  along  pleasantly  over  the  rippling  water,  and 
now  it  was  lashed  to  foam  by  a  fierce  blast  that  literally 
came  down  into  the  basin,  and  ploughed  up  the  waters 
into  deep  and  difficult  furrows.  I  did  not  believe  it  pos¬ 
sible  that  the  little  lake  could  get  up  such  a  sea  as  now 
rolled  and  tossed  us. 

It  wras  manifest  instantly  that  we  were  not  going  to 
make  headway  against  it.  I  put  the  helm  hard  down, 
but  she  paid  no  more  attention  to  it  than  if  it  were  no 
helm.  I  looked  over  the  stern  now  for  the  first  time,  and 
to  my  horror  and  amazement  I  saw  that  it  w7as  no  helm. 
I  don’t  know  whether  she  ever  had  a  rudder,  but  it  was 
now  only  a  rudder-post,  and  nothing  more. 

I  rigged  out  the  solitary  sweep  over  the  stern,  and  en¬ 
deavored  to  steer  with  that  and  keep  her  head  to  the 
wind,  but  she  lay  off  for  the  east  shore,  and  rolled  and 
pitched  so  that  we  found  that  on  that  tack  we  should 
make  the  east  side  of  the  lake  on  the  most  desolate  part 
of  the  shore,  and  that  would  never  do.  I  shouted  to 
Ibrahim  to  haul  down  his  rag  of  a  sail,  and  take  to  the 
oars ;  but  he  was  too  much  frightened  to  be  of  any 
service,  and  the  boys  were  curled  up  in  the  bottom  of  the 
boat,  in  a  perfect  state  of  fatalism. 


378 


TOILING  AND  ROWING. 


We  were  all  enjoying  tlie  scene;  danger  there  was 
none  to  any  one  at  all  experienced  in  boating ;  and  the 
recollection  of  the  storm  of  wind  that  once  came  down 
upon  the  lake  when  He  was  there  to  rebuke  the  wind  and 
the  raging  of  the  water,*  and  of  that  night  when  the 
disciples  were  in  the  midst  of  the  sea,  toiling  and  rowing, 
tossed  with  waves,  and  His  footsteps  walking  over  the 
waters  calmed  them,f  occupied  our  thoughts  and  our 
lips. 

But  we  were  fast  driving  out  to  sea ;  and,  while  some 
of  us  hauled  down  the  sail,  others  got  out  the  unequal 
oars.  Kicking  up  the  boys,  I  made  them  take  hold  and 
pull,  threatening  them  with  condign  punishment  if  they 
did  not  obey.  They  “  toiled  and  rowed,”  but  we  made 
stern-way,  and  I  began  to  feel  uneasy.  The  tents  were 
about  two  miles  from  us,  visible  on  the  shore,  but  I  ques¬ 
tioned  whether  we  could  be  seen  from  them  on  the  rough 
sea,  with  the  dark  back-ground  of  the  south-eastern  hills, 
and  I  knew  that  Miriam  would  begin  to  be  uneasy  as  the 
evening  approached. 

I  sprang  to  the  sweep,  and  pitching  the  Arab  into  his 
favorite  place  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  threw  myself 
down  on  it  in  old  fashioned  home  style.  Had  the  wood 
been  a  stout  ash,  I  should  have  sent  her  shoreward  fast 
enough  ;  but  as  I  lay  back,  crack  went  the  oar,  and  over 
I  went,  head  down  and  feet  skyward,  and  a  sudden  in¬ 
crease  of  wind,  one  of  those  outbursts  that  is  always  ready 
to  catch  a  boat  in  a  tight  place,  took  her  off  like  a  flash, 
and  away  she  went  before  it. 

u  Where  now  ?”  asked  Whitely,  with  an  accent  of 
despair. 

“  To  the  devil,  certain.” 

“  Profane  dog.” 

*  Luke,  viii.  22,  and  parallel  passages. 

•  f  Matth.,  xiv.  24,  and  parallel  passages. 


LAND  OP  THE  QADARENES. 


379 


“Not  a  bit  of  it — I  mean  to  the  seven  devils.  Right 
there  away  is  the  scene  of  the  miracle  ;  and,  as  sure  as 
you’re  alive,  we  are  bound  to  the  land  of  the  Gadarenes.” 

It  was  our  only  hope.  W e  made  sail  again,  and  let  her 
go.  She  rolled,  and  pitched,  and  tumbled,  and  creaked, 
and  groaned,  and  tumbled,  and  pitched,  and  rolled,  and 
we  took  to  reading  our  Bibles,  as  shipwrecked  people  are 
apt  to  do,  though  our  motive  was  not  the  same,  perhaps, 
and,  just  two  hours  after  we  put  her  away  before  it,  she 
plumped  up  on  the  beach  at  the  mud  village  of  Samak 
(i.  e.,  Fish),  in  the  Wady  Es  Samak,  on  the  south-east 
shore  of  the  sea.  The  villagers,  notoriously  bad  scamps, 
came  down  to  meet  us  in  a  crowd,  and  among  them  a 
reformed  Bedouin  on  horseback.  I  call  him  a  reformed 
Bedouin,  as  he  was  Bedouin  by  origin,  but  had  become  a 
soldier  in  the  regular  army,  and  was,  as  a  consequence, 
half  Arab  and  half  thorough  scoundrel.  We  lost  no  time 
in  securing  his  services  to  go  along  with  us  to  the  Jordan, 
and  ferry  us  over  on  his  horse,  for  it  will  be  noticed  that 
we  were  now  in  the  lands  beyond  Jordan. 

Hastening  our  steps,  for  the  sun  was  declining,  we 
reached  the  east  side  of  the  outlet,  and  I  directed  the 
Arab  to  the  ford  I  had  found  in  the  morning.  He  pre¬ 
ferred  to  try  his  own  way ;  and  the  first  person  that  he 
took  on  his  horse  behind  him  went  in  with  a  plunge  over 
every  thing.  The  second  had  a  similar  experience ;  and 
I,  having  tied  my  clothes,  pistols,  and  fowling-piece  in  a 
bundle  on  my  head,  walked  over  as  I  had  done  in  the 
morning,  laughing  to  myself  as  my  beard  swept  down 
the  gentle  flow  of  the  current,  and  touching  my  lips  to 
the  water  to  kiss  its  bright  and  holy  surface.  Laughing, 
I  say,  for  was  it  not  an  odd  scene  after  all  ?  I  had 
crossed  a  hundred  rivers  just  so  at  home,  when  hunting ; 
but  who  would  have  dreamed  of  crossing  the  Jordan  in 
that  style  ? 


380 


BED  OUIN  TE  NTS. 


So  ive  came  over  the  Jordan;  and  the  last  rays  of  the 
sun  were  gone,  and  gloom  was  settling  down  on  the  lake, 
as  we  found  ourselves  all  on  this  side,  and  ready  for  a 
walk  to  the  tents.  Scratching  a  note  on  my  tablets  to 
Miriam  assuring  her  that  we  were  all  safe  u  at  the  bottom 
of  the  sea,”  and  begging  her  to  send  the  horses  to  meet 
us,  and  to  have  dinner  ready  at  nine  o’clock,  I  sent  it 
by  the  Arab,  and  we  then  started  off.  Some  one  has 
said  that  Tiberias  is  four  miles  from  the  outlet.  We 
walked  very  fast,  and  the  way  is  not  at  all  crooked. 
We  were  two  hours  and  a  quarter  from  the  Jordan  to 
our  tents. 

Half  way  up,  under  the  steepest  hills  on  the  west,  we 
had  to  pass  the  black  tents  of  the  Bedouins,  of  whom  we 
had  met  some  specimens  the  day  previous,  before  our  arri¬ 
val  at  Tiberias.  We  had  been  specially  warned  against 
them  as  dangerous ;  but  there  was  no  other  road,  and  we 
formed  in  double  file  and  passed  in  front  of  the  camp 
without  pausing.  One  man  came  out  and  shouted  the 
qui  vive  of  the  East,  “  Enta  men” — who  are  you  ?  and  we 
made  no  reply,  but  pressed  on.  They  knew  who  we  were 
of  course ;  but  six  men,  with  the  small  arms  carried  by 
Franks,  were  too  formidable  a  party  for  a  hundred  Be¬ 
douins  to  attack.  Balls  from  pistols  will  hurt  some  one, 
and  an  Arab  has  a  holy  horror  of  being  shot.  We  were 
not  disturbed.  We  had  passed  the  hot  baths,  and  were 
within  half  a  mile  of  the  tents,  when  we  met  the  horses. 
The  loitering  dog  of  an  Arab  had  walked  his  horse  most 
of  the  way  up,  and  had  not  gained  twenty  minutes  on  us. 
But  we  mounted  very  willingly,  and  went  into  camp  at  a 
gallop. 

Miriam  had  passed  the  day  quietly,  visiting  the  Jewish 
synagogue  and  one  or  two  Jewish  families  in  the  city,  and 
especially  the  solitary  old  Greek  priest  who  is  located 
here,  into  whose  house  she  was  persuaded  to  go  by  his 


A  LOST  DONKEY. 


381 


wife  and  daughter,  who  wished  much  to  see  the  Frankish 
lady.  She  underwent  the  usual  examination,  and  was 
not  a  little  interested  in  their  simple  manners  and  their 
wonderment. 

The  Bedouin  who  had  brought  my  note  to  Miriam,  now 
demanded  pay  for  his  services,  which,  notwithstanding 
his  slowness,  we  gave  him  liberally.  But  no  liberality 
reaches  the  heart  of  an  Arab,  especially  one  of  this  re¬ 
formed  class.  He  vociferated  for  more,  and  when  it  was 
refused,  grew  boisterous.  Next  morning  Selim’s  donkey 
was  missing.  Had  it  been  Betuni’s,  I  should  have  re¬ 
garded  it  as  a  serious  loss  to  the  daily  sources  of  amuse¬ 
ment,  but  Selim’s  was  a  very  slow  donkey,  with  no  special 
points  to  interest  me  in  his  behalf. 

I  contented  myself  with  backing  Selim’s  application  to 
the  governor  of  Tiberias  for  indemnity,  the  loss  being 
under  the  walls  of  his  city.  But  we  never  heard  of  the 
animal  again,  and  charged  him  to  the  account  of  our  Be¬ 
douin  acquaintance. 


Jiie  dJU i i) e  of  I  i  b  e  H  3  g  • 


Sunday  morning  rose  on  the  sea,  a  calm,  still,  beautiful 
morning,  that  reminded  us  of  summer  Sabbath  mornings 
in  the  up-country  long  ago,  when  the  air  was  quiet  and  still, 
when  the  whistle  of  the  quail  came  up  joyously  from  the 
stubble-field  ;  and  if  you  listened  at  the  right  moment 
you  could  hear  far  over  the  hills  and  valleys  the  sound  of 
the  church  bell  in  the  village,  musical  and  clear. 

I  can  hardly  remember  now  how  that  Sunday  passed. 
It  was  a  long,  delicious  dream.  We  read  over  all  the 
passages  of  the  life  of  Christ  that  were  connected  in  any 
manner  with  the  sea.  We  wandered  among  the  graves 
of  the  Jews,  close  by  our  tents.  Most  of  them  are  marked 
with  broken  shafts  of  columns  that  once  supported  the 
architecture  of  old  Tiberias.  These  are  carved  with  He¬ 
brew  legends,  and  lie  prostrate  on  the  graves ;  for  here, 
as  elsewhere,  the  children  of  Israel  are  forbidden  to  erect 
upright  tomb-stones. 

Toward  noon  we  walked  a  little  way  up  the  hill-side, 
and  sat  down  under  the  shadow  of  a  ruined  wall,  the 
wall  of  an  ancient  Christian  church,  and  listened  to  a  ser¬ 
mon,  that  was  rather  a  talk,  in  simple  but  eloquent  lan¬ 
guage,  from  our  companion,  Dr.  Bonar. 

I  can  not  forbear  relating  an  amusing  mistake  that  one 
of  my  Arabs  made  while  we  were  sitting  together  on  the 
hill-side  in  the  morning.  We  had  selected  a  spot  not  far 


CARPETS  AND  CIGARS. 


383 


distant  from  the  tents,  among  the  rums  of  old  Tiberias, 
under  the  shadow  of  a  high  wall,  and  on  the  ruins  of  it. 
As  we  gathered  here,  and  just  before  the  doctor  com¬ 
menced  the  simple  service,  I  told  the  Arab,  who  had 
come  with  Miriam’s  donkey  up  the  hill,  to  go  back  to  the 
tents  and  bring  me  a  carpet  to  spread  on  the  ground  for 
her  to  sit  on.  He  went  down,  and  just  as  we  were  com¬ 
mencing  to  sing  a  hymn  he  returned,  and  handed  me,  to 
my  horror,  a  bunch  of  cigars.  It  was  impossible  to  ex¬ 
plain  the  incident  to  my  astonished  companions ;  and  I 
did  not  know  but  our  Scotch  friends  might  imagine  it 
customary  in  America  to  “  smoke  in  meeting.”  I  was 
obliged  to  rest  under  the  imputation  of  having  sent  for 
cigars  till  our  service  was  ended,  and  then  informed  them 
that  the  Arabic  word  segada  was  so  like  cigara  that  the 
stupid  fellow  had  misunderstood  me,  and  thought  I 
wanted  to  smoke  while  the  doctor  preached. 

Nearly  a  mile  south  of  Tiberias,  on  the  lake  shore,  are 
several  hot  springs,  over  which,  from  time  to  time,  since 
the  days  of  the  Roman  emperors,  bathing-houses  have 
been  erected.  Of  those  now  standing  the  last  was  built 
by  Ibrahim  Pasha,  of  the  material  which  the  old  city  left 
lying  all  around  them.  The  chief  bathing-room  is  in 
oriental  style,  a  deep,  circular  bath  with  a  dome  overhead 
supported  by  columns  that  were  once  the  ornaments  of 
Roman  palaces.  There  is  a  small  bathing-room  for  a 
private  bath  adjoining  this.  I  sent  down  in  the  morning, 
to  have  the  bath  thoroughly  cleaned  out,  and  fresh,  clean 
water  let  in.  Toward  evening  we  walked  down  and 
bathed.  The  temperature  of  the  water  was  about  a  hun¬ 
dred  and  twenty.  It  was  by  a  slow  process  of  boiling 
one  foot  and  then  the  other,  and  then  letting  ourselves 
slowly  down  in,  an  inch  a  minute,  that  Whitely  and  I 
finally  succeeded  in  measuring  the  depth  of  the  bath, 
which  was  just  five  feet.  I  boiled  myself  half  an  hour  and 


384 


BUYING  WINE. 


came  out  a  newT  man.  It  was  one  of  the  most  refreshing 
baths  I  have  ever  taken,  and  I  added  an  improvement  to 
the  usual  style  of  bathing,  by  coming  out  and  going  down 
to  the  sea  shore,  where  I  plunged  into  the  cold  water. 
That  was  magnificent. 

From  the  time  of  leaving  Jerusalem,  Miriam  had  suf¬ 
fered  a  severe  pain  in  her  left  shoulder,  which  was  either 
rheumatism  or  neuralgia.  It  was  a  great  affliction,  and  so 
severe  at  times,  after  a  long  day’s  ride,  as  to  be  almost 
intolerable.  She  bathed  here  and  never  heard  of  the  pain 
again.  We  attributed  the  cure  to  the  waters,  and  I 
mention  it  for  the  benefit  of  any  traveler  who  may  hesi¬ 
tate  to  try  them. 

I  have  already  related  my  success  at  Nazareth  in  get¬ 
ting  wine.  We  had  exhausted  the  supply  of  our  excellent 
friend,  the  superior  of  the  Convent  of  the  Annunciation, 
and  I  proposed  to  follow  his  advice  here  at  Tiberias. 

Late  in  the  evening  we  went  into  the  town  to  see  the 
Jews,  for  of  them  alone  can  wine  be  purchased.  The 
Mussulmans  never  make  or  use  it,  and  the  Jews  through¬ 
out  Palestine  have  a  regular  monopoly  of  it. 

The  moonlight  lay  like  a  blessing  on  the  old  city.  The 
walls,  lying  still  in  the  sad  ruins  that  were  the  result  of 
the  earthquake  in  1837,  were  picturesque  and  beautiful  in 
the  pale  light.  We  entered  the  city  through  a  breach 
and  a  long,  dark,  arched  building.  I  did  not  go  to  ex¬ 
amine  it  by  daylight,  and  don’t  know  what  it  was.  We 
went  directly  to  a  house  that  was  kept  as  a  hotel,  by  a 
Mr.  Wiseman,  and  he  offered  us  specimens  of  various 
sorts  of  wine.  The  first  tasted  like  spoiled  beer,  the 
second  like  spoiled  cider,  and  the  third  was  poison.  We 
then  commenced  a  regular  cruise  among  Jewish  houses, 
and  were,  at  length,  fortunate  in  meeting  an  old  lady  in 
a  moonlit  street,  who  took  us  to  her  own  house  where  she 
assured  us  she  had  good  wine. 


BUYING  WINE. 


385 


It  was  a  clean  place,  and  a  neat  room  into  which  she 
showed  us,  and  there  was  in  it  a  young  girl  of  rare 
beauty.  Such,  I  thought,  as  I  looked  at  her,  might  have 
been  the  beautiful  mother  of  Benjamin.  She  was  tall, 
slender,  yet  with  a  full  form  and  graceful ;  her  face  was 
white  and  delicate,  and  she  had  an  eye  to  haunt  a  young 
man  like  my  friend,  and  even  to  revisit  the  dreams  of  an 
older  one,  like  myself.  While  we  talked  with  her,  the 
old  lady  had  gone  out  and  now  returned  with  a  glass  of 
wine.  It  was  much  better  than  the  best  of  Wiseman’s, 
but  it  was  poor  stuff.  I  told  her  so,  and  she  brought  a 
better  article.  Whitely  sipped  it  and  looked  over  the 
top  of  the  glass  at  Sarai — that  was  her  name — and  praised 
the  wine,  and  I  bought  it. 

After  we  had  left  the  house,  I  told  him  frankly  I  didn’t 
like  it  much,  and*  was  going  to  look  for  better.  We 
knocked  at  half  a  dozen  houses,  and,  at  length,  scared  up 
a  family  who  answered  our  query  for  wine  with  an  affirm¬ 
ative,  and  a  young  woman,  bidding  us  wait,  ran  out,  like 
a  ghost  in  the  moonlight,  and  soon  returned  with  the 
same  old  lady.  She  was  a  sister  of  Sarai  and  this  was  her 
mother.  She  laughed  at  finding  us  looking  for  better 
wine  than  she  had  sold  us,  and  told  us  she  had  better  yet 
at  home,  whereat  we  laughed  and  went  back  with  her, 
not  unwilling  to  see  Sarai  again.  Alas,  Sarai  sat  in  a 
corner  with  her  husband,  a  filthy-looking  dog,  and  the 
wine  was  a  poor  consoler  for  such  a  discovery.  But  it 
was  a  very  decided  improvement  on  the  last,  and  we 
bought  another  gallon,  and  went  away.  I  had  still  a 
notion  that  there  might  be  better  wine  in  Tiberias,  and, 
as  the  moon  was  bright  and  the  Jewish  interiors  might 
possibly  show  up  something  more  of  the  Sarai  sort,  we 
went  on  around  town  and,  at  length,  hit  on  another 
family  who  could  sell  us  wine.  So  we  sat  down  in  a  dingy 
room,  and  the  mother  went  out  and  came  back  with — 

17 


386 


A  GALILEE  WINE-CELLAR. 


Sarai !  Identically.  And  she  laughed  the  gayest  im¬ 
aginable  laugh,  and  said,  in  her  musical  Teutonic — for 
Sarai  was  German,  and  her  voice  made  even  German 
musical — she  said  her  mother  had  better  wine  than  we 
had  tasted.  And  so  we  went  back  in  a  high  state  of  in¬ 
dignation  at  the  old  woman,  which  all  passed  away  as  we 
followed  Sarai’s  exquisite  form,  and  saw  her  face  in  the 
moonlight  of  Tiberias.  Such,  ere  she  sinned,  might  well 
have  been  Mary  of  Magdala,  if  indeed  she  was  so  great  a 
sinner,  which  is  much  to  be  doubted.  Such  might  have 
been  Miriam  the  mother  of  the  Lord. 

The  old  lady  laughed  again  at  my  indignant  remon¬ 
strances,  and  I  followed  her  now  to  her  reservoirs,  not  un¬ 
willing  to  see  a  Tubareeyeh  wine-cellar.  It  was  a  cellar, 
three  or  four  feet  below  the  level  of  the  court  of  her  little 
mud  house.  It  was  filled  with  large  earthen  jars.  Each 
one  would  hold  half  a  barrel.  They  had  large  open  tops, 
on  which  were  earthen  covers.  I  opened  one  after  an¬ 
other,  and  tasted  every  variety  of  Galilee  wine.  Some 
was  new,  and  raw  and  unpleasant,  the  bitter  taste  of  the 
grape-seed  predominating,  others  were  ripe  and  more  like 
a  Beaune  claret  sweetened  with  sugar.  One  jar  was 
much  like  dead  champagne,  and  that  which  she  thought 
best  of  all  was  heavier  than  old  port,  thick,  oily,  and 
crusty,  very  pleasant  to  taste  but  cloying  immediately. 
I  never  have  seen  any  thing  like  it  in  wine  elsewhere,  but 
I  found  it  the  favorite  among  the  Jews  in  Jerusalem  and 
here.  She  had  eight  or  ten  kinds,  and  some  of  them 
evidently  the  jars  from  which  Wiseman’s  poison  came. 

When  I  returned  into  the  house,  Sarai’s  husband,  who 
was  a  boy  of  eighteen  or  nineteen,  produced  a  silver  coin 
of  Ptolemaic  times,  which  he  wished  me  to  buy  at  a  large 
price.  He  told  me  that  a  boy  at  Safed  had  recently  found 
a  hole  full  of  them.  These  holes,  full  of  coins,  turn  up 
occasionally  in  Holy  Land,  the  buried  treasures  of  an- 


SARAI  OF  TIBERIAS. 


387 


cients,  whose  dust  has  long  ago  become  part  of  the  dust 
around  their  gold.  The  moderns,  however,  know  very 
well  the  value  of  old  coins,  and  since  the  discovery  of 
Alexandrian  gold  coins  at  Sidon,  the  goldsmiths  of  Bey- 
rout  have  been  manufacturing  them  from  the  old  patterns, 
so  that  the  supply  is  enormous. 

Not  even  the  beauty  of  Sarai  could  persuade  us  into 
paying  her  husband’s  price  for  a  coin  of  which  I  had  al¬ 
ready  a  specimen,  and  having  sent  our  purchases  of  wine 
to  the  tents,  selecting  enough  to  last  us  as  far  as  Damas¬ 
cus,  we  came  out  into  the  moonlight,  and  strolled  along 
the  shore  of  the  sea  till  it  was  high  noon  of  night. 


Jhe  bjppel*  lol’Oqn. 

We  left  the  sea  of  Galilee  with  much  the  same  regret 
that  we  had  on  leaving  Jerusalem. 

Three  nights  on  its  quiet  side  had  endeared  to  us  the 
assbciations  with  its  shores  and  waves  far  more  than  the 
reading  of  its  history  possibly  could,  and  we  had  but  this 
comfort  in  going,  that  we  should  take  away  many  of  the 
memories  that  haunt  its  sacred  banks.  The  music  of  its 
waves,  to  which  we  slept  each  night,  is  “  a  joy  forever,” 
and  in  years  to  come  the  memory  of  that  melody  will 
serve  to  soothe  far  better  than  its  imaginations  in  former 
times.  * 

While  the  baggage  was  put  on  the  horses,  Moreright 
and  myself  climbed  the  ruins  of  the  wall  of  Tiberias,  and 
sitting  on  a  tower,  overlooked  the  place  and  the  sea, 
making  some  notes  of  general  appearances. 

The  sea  of  Galilee  is  from  twelve  to  fourteen  miles  in 
direct  length  from  north  to  south,  and  about  seven  in 
width  at  the  widest  part,  which  is  nearer  the  northern 
than  the  southern  end.  I  have  already  described  the 
general  aspect  of  the  scenery  around  the  sea.  The  eastern 
shore  is  in  general  straighter  than  the  western.  That  is 
to  say  its  line  is  more  nearly  north  and  south.  There  is 
a  great  curve  to  the  westward  in  the  line  of  the  other 
beach,  which  readiest  the  utmost  point  of  westing  at  the 


TIBERIAS. 


389 


village  of  Megdel,  the  ancient  Magdala.  Tiberias  is  about 
three  miles  south  of  this  point,  and  about  six  north  from 
the  extreme  south  point.  It  is  the  only  place  of  import¬ 
ance  on  the  lake.  Samak,  on  its  extreme  southern  limit, 
and  a  small  collection  of  huts,  called  El  Houssan,  directly 
opposite  Tiberias,  are  the  only  other  villages  visible  on  all 
the  shores,  and  these  are  but  mud  huts,  inhabited  by  the 
poorest  fellaheen.  The  Arabs  told  me  of  a  large  village 
called  Fink,  lying  two  hours  east  of  El  Houssan,  beyond 
the  mountains,  but  I  could  gather  no  particulars  of  interest 
concerning  it. 

Tradition  locates  the  miraculous  draught  of  fishes  at 
the  northern  end  of  the  city  of  Tiberias,  where  there  is  a 
chapel  built  and  dedicated  to  Peter,  which  belongs  to  the 
Latin  convent  at  Nazareth.  It  is  supposed  also  to  cover 
the  spot  where  Christ’s  last  charge  to  Peter  was  deliv¬ 
ered. 

The  inhabitants  of  Tiberias  are  Christians,  Jews,  and 
Moslems,  and  are  about  equally  divided.  The  native  pop¬ 
ulation  can  hardly  exceed,  if  it  reach  twenty-live  hundred. 
The  Jews  are  of  all  nations,  and  I  found  them  talking 
Italian,  Spanish,  and  German,  while  many  of  them  were 
such  recent-comers  that  they  had  not  yet  learned  Arabic. 
The  Christians  are,  with  a  few  exceptions,  Greek-Catholic, 
that  is,  belonging  to  the  branch  of  the  Greek  Church 
which  acknowledges  the  supremacy  of  Rome. 

We  found  the  fish  of  the  lake  very  palatable,  and  in 
taste  not  unlike  the  perch  and  large  roach  of  our  own 
waters.  The  statement  that  the  Abou-Kishr,  a  fish  of  the 
Nile,  is  also  found  here,  I  think  must  have  its  origin  in 
the  same  name  being  applied  to  different  fish.  I  have 
taken  many  of  the  Abou-Kishr  in  the  Nile,  and  am  satis¬ 
fied  that  that  fish  will  not  live  except  in  a  muddy  stream. 
Fish  are  very  choice  of  their  water,  and  one  accustomed 
to  mud,  is  seldom  found  in  clear  water.  Nor  did  I  see, 


390 


EVENTS  OF  CHRIST’S  LIFE. 

among  many  varieties  of  fish  at  Tiberias,  any  that  resem¬ 
bled  the  Abou-Kishr. 

With  the  history  of  the  city,  I  will  not  detain  the 
reader.  It  is  chiefly  a  history  of  times  since  the  days  of 
the  Saviour.  Tiberias  attained  its  greatest  importance 
under  the  Roman  emperors  after  the  fall  of  Jerusalem, 
and  became  the  great  seat  of  the  Hebrew  scholars  and  of 
Jewish  learning.  In  the  Crusades  it  also  figures  largely, 
but  in  the  later  years  it  has  gone  to  decay. 

I  have  already  mentioned  the  hill  of  Hattin  as  the  sup¬ 
posed  Mountain  of  the  Beatitudes.  There  is  certainly  no 
reason  for  giving  it  such  a  name. 

The  fact  is  stated  very  barely  that  Christ  “  went  up 
into  a  mountain,”  and  beyond  the  mere  fact  that  this  was 
in  Galilee,  we  know  nothing.  That  passage  in  the  mount¬ 
ain  sermon, u  a  city  that  is  set  on  a  hill  can  not  be  hid,” 
has  often  been  mentioned  in  connection  with  the  city  of 
Safed,  which,  standing  on  a  high  hill  far  to  the  north,  is 
visible  from  almost  all  parts  of  Galilee.  But  it  is  hardly 
probable  that  Christ  had  reference  to  this  place,  inasmuch 
as  there  is  no  evidence  of  its  so  great  antiquity. 

The  city  on  the  summit  of  Tabor  might  well  have  sug¬ 
gested  the  idea.  There  is  no  doubt  that  there  was  a 
commanding  fortress  and  town  on  this  isolated  knoll  over¬ 
looking  the  vast  plains  and  rolling  land  west  of  the  sea 
and  the  Jordan.  But  all  this  is  conjecture. 

There  is  one  event  of  the  life  of  Christ  which  has  been 
located  by  various  hypotheses  on  every  high  hill  in  Galilee. 
I  allude  to  the  transfiguration.  The  evidence  of  Scripture 
would  appear  to  be  very  decided  that  this  took  place 
somewhere  in  the  northern  part  of  the  Holy  Land,  among 
the  “  towns  of  Cesarea-Philippi.”  It  was  in  this  neigh¬ 
borhood  that  Mark  locates  it  more  nearly  than  any  other 
(Mark,  viii.,  27),  and  the  expression  afterward  used  in 
the  30th  verse  of  the  9th  chapter,  “  they  departed  thence 


and  passed  through  Galilee,”  appears  to  imply  that  they 
were  not  in  Galilee  when  it  occurred. 

While  Moreright  and  myself  discussed  these  various 
subjects,  the  tents  had  disappeared,  the  baggage  was 
gone,  and  a  shout  at  length  called  us  from  our  seat  on  the 
wall  to  the  late  camp-ground,  the  pleasantest  of  all  our 
camp-grounds  in  Holy  Land. 

We  rode  slowly  under  the  wall  of  the  old  city,  and 
ascended  the  hill,  along  the  bank  of  the  sea.  The  water 
was  so  clear,  that  from  two  hundred  feet  above  it  we 
could  see  large  and  small  fish  playing  about  in  it,  and 
all  the  colors  of  the  pebbles  on  the  bottom.  One  hour 
and  twenty  minutes  from  Tiberias,  we  arrived  at  Mag- 
dala,  now  called  Megdel,  a  collection  of  mud  huts,  the 
sole  representative  of  the  city  of  the  Mary  whose  afflic¬ 
tions  have  been  transformed,  in  tradition,  into  sins. 

Here  our  path  came  down  to  the  beach,  which  was 
now  soft  sand,  filled  with  an  infinite  number  of  shells,  and 
along  this,  with  our  horses’  feet  oftentimes  in  the  water, 
we  rode  for  one  hour,  when  we  reached  Khan  Minieh. 
Our  last  hour  had  been  over  a  broad  and  beautiful  valley, 
bounded  on  the  south  by  the  wild  mountainous  ridges,  in 
which  the  ancient  robbers  found  almost  inaccessible  cav¬ 
erns  to  hide  and  fortify  themselves  in,  and  whence  they 
were  dislodged  by  men  let  down  from  above  in  baskets, 
or  machines  constructed  for  the  purpose.  The  north 
side  of  the  plain  abuts  on  the  range  of  hills  which  crosses 
the  head  of  the  sea.  This  is  the  plain  and  land  of  Gen- 
nesareth,  Chinnereth  or  Chinneroth.  For  the  former 
name  is,  doubtless,  a  corruption  of  the  latter,  which 
is  found  in  the  nineteenth  chapter  of  Joshua,  as  one  of 
the  cities  of  the  tribe  of  Naphtali. 

Khan  Minieh  is  but  a  name.  There  is  a  beautiful 
spring  of  water  here,  running  a  few  rods  into  the  lake, 
and  surrounded  by  rich  and  luxuriant  vegetation,  and  a 


392 


CAPERNAUM. 


ruined  khan,  but  no  other  remains.  We  had  passed 
groves  of  oleander,  in  bloom,  for  nearly  the  whole  hour, 
and  now  we  found  almond  and  fig-trees,  and  wild  flowers 
in  profusion.  The  water  of  the  fountain  was  not  pleas¬ 
ant.  It  was  not  cold,  and  the  taste  was  by  no  means  so 
sweet  as  to  justify  the  tradition  that  it  is  a  branch  of  the 
Nile.  It  was  in  fact  a  little  brackish. 

I  think  Dr.  Robinson’s  views  of  this  spot,  as  the  local¬ 
ity  of  Capernaum,  are  satisfactory.  The  location  of  the 
place  with  reference  to  Gennesareth,  and  the  resemblance 
of  the  fountain  to  that  of  Capernaum,  as  described  by 
Josephus,  appear  sufficient  evidence  in  the  absence  of 
direct  proof  against  it,  which  the  other  locality  at  Tell- 
Ilun  does  not  furnish.  The  argument  which  I  heard 
used  in  favor  of  the  other  locality  was  somewhat  amus¬ 
ing. 

“  Capernaum  was  on  a  high  hill,”  said  the  gentleman ; 
“  because  the  apostrophe  of  Christ  so  implies  when 
he  said,  ‘  Thou,  Capernaum,  which  art  exalted  unto 
heaven.’  ” 

“But  I  imagined  that  was  quite  figurative,”  said  I, 
“  and  referred  to  the  pride  of  the  inhabitants.” 

“  O,  yes,  but  also  to  the  locality.  I  should  certainly 
look  for  a  place  on  a  hill.  I  think  there  was  a  literal 
truth  in  the  apostrophe  evident  on  its  face.” 

“  But  you  believe  that  Christ’s  prophecy  concerning  it 
has  been  fulfilled  ?” 

“  Doubtless.” 

“Then  I  advise  you  to  look  for  Capernaum  in  the 
lowest  hollow  you  can  find  in  these  parts,  for  the  curse 
was,  4  Thou  shalt  be  cast  down  to  hell,’  and  that  must  be 
as  literally  true  as  the  first  part  of  it, 4  which  art  exalted 
unto  heaven.’  ” 

We  now  ascended  the  hills  which  cross  the  head 
of  the  lake,  and  left  its  shores.  Looking  back  on  it  we 


PIT  OF  JOSEPH. 


393 


saw  the  probable  locality  of  Chorazin  and  Bethsaida,  but 
they  are  conjectural  wholly.  We  swept  our  eyes  over  the 
entire  lake,  as  we  then  supposed  for  the  last  time,  but  all 
day  long,  as  we  went  up  the  hills,  we  caught  glimpses  of 
its  silver  surface,  and  it  was  late  in  the  afternoon  before 
we  saw,  for  the  last  time,  the  blue  waters  of  Gennesareth. 

The  way  now  became  difficult  beyond  parallel.  For 
miles  the  road  lay  over  rolling  hills  covered  with  broken 
rock,  over  which  any  other  horses  than  those  would  have 
fallen  a  hundred  times.  Path  there  was  none.  We 
found  our  way  northward,  as  we  saw  fit,  and  rejoiced 
exceedingly  at  two  hours  from  Khan  Minieh,  when  we 
saw  the  walls  of  Khan  Jubb  Yusef,  where  we  were  to  lunch. 

It  was  a  dismal  place.  The  khan  was  an  immense 
stone  building  surrounding  a  court-yard  knee-deep  in 
mud,  in  one  corner  of  which  lay  a  dead  camel.  The 
effluvia  was  horrible,  and  we  could  not  enter,  but  we  sat 
down  outside  and  rested  awhile. 

This  khan  has  been  described  by  travelers  as  marking 
the  spot  where  one  of  the  traditions  locates  the  pit  into 
which  the  brethren  of  Joseph  threw  him,  and  Burckhardt 
and  Dr.  Robinson  speak  of  the  pit  itself  as  “  in  a  court  by 
the  side  of  the  khan.”  The  former  describes  it  as  “  three 
feet  in  diameter,  and  at  least  thirty  feet  deep.”  This  is  a 
mistake.  There  is  a  curious  outside  court,  walled  in  and 
faced,  by  the  side  of  the  khan,  but  it  contains  only  an 
ordinary  cistern.  The  reputed  pit  of  Joseph  is  a  half 
hour  from  the  khan,  which  has  no  connection  with  it, 
and  only  derives  its  name  from  the  proximity. 

There  is  another,  and  much  more  likely  locality  for 
Dothaim,  among  the  mountains  south  of  Jezreel,  and 
there  is  every  evidence  against  this  in  the  north  country. 

I  have  marked  this  day  as  one  of  the  most  weary  in  my 
entire  journeyings.  If  flowers  mark  the  footsteps  of  the 
Lord,  one  might  believe  that  he  had  lingered  around  the 

17* 


394 


A  GAZELLE  CHASE. 


fountain  at  Minieh  and  the  hills  above  it,  for  their  pro¬ 
fusion  was  unexampled.  But  after  this  there  were  none, 
except  occasional  bulbous  roots,  of  which  we  gathered 
specimens  for  the  conservatory  at  home. 

I  felt  as  if  leaving  the  footprints  of  Christ.  As  I  went 
northward  from  Galilee,  all  interest  in  that  country  seemed 
to  cease.  The  incidents  of  travel  alone  interested  us,  and 
we  ceased  any  longer  to  mark  spots  that  were  sanctified 
in  the  history  of  the  Lord.  Nevertheless,  we  were  not  yet 
away  from  Holy  Land,  for  his  wanderings  led  him  to 
Cesar ea-Philippi,  and  we  were  going  there. 

Toward  evening,  as  we  rode  slowly  over  a  long  slope 
descending  to  a  deep  wady  or  bed  of  a  stream,  we  caught 
sight  of  five  gazelles  on  the  plain  ahead  of  us. 

Shouting  to  the  rest  to  hold  up,  I  wheeled  short  to  the 
right,  dashed  down  a  side  valley  that  joined  the  other  a 
hundred  rods  below,  and  going  down  this,  crossed  the  dry 
bed  of  the  brook,  and  went  up  the  opposite  ascent.  I  had 
gotten  half  way  up,  when  a  shout  from  Abd-el-Atti  warned 
me  that  they  were  alarmed.  The  next  moment,  one  of 
them  dashed  along  the  top,  of  the  ridge,  showing  his  head 
an  instant  only.  I  gave  Mohammed  the  rein,  and  he 
went  back  into  the  valley,  and  down  the  bed  of  the  stream, 
like  a  thunderbolt.  Now  he  took  a  rock  at  a  leap,  and 
now  he  went,  break-neck  fashion,  down  a  steep  descent. 
The  speed  was  tremendous  for  five  minutes,  and  then  a 
faint  halloo  overtook  me.  Looking  back  over  my  shoulder, 
I  saw  Abd-el-Atti  waving  his  hand  to  signify  that  they  had 
stopped.  I  turned  up  the  hill  again,  taking  it  diagonally. 
The  horse  went  over  the  ridge  as  I  swung  my  fowling- 
piece  from  my  back,  and  threw  it  over  my  left  arm.  It 
was  loaded  with  heavy  shot.  I  had  been  that  day  killing 
vultures  on  the  bodies  of  dead  animals  in  the  road,  for 
we  were  on  the  great  Damascus  and  Jerusalem  caravan 
route. 


TROUBLE  AHEAD. 


:3‘J5 


As  I  came  up  on  the  table-land,  I  was  within  a  hun¬ 
dred  yards  of  them.  They  glanced  at  me  a  moment,  and 
were  off  like  the  wind,  bounding  twenty  feet  at  the  first 
jump.  Shot  was  quick,  but  not  quick  enough  for  them, 
and  I  wasted  both  barrels  on  them,  and  then  spoke  to  Mo¬ 
hammed  again.  He  knew  what  I  wished  right  well,  and 
the  pace  was  fearful  as  we  went  along  the  edge  of  the  ridge 
toward  a  point  where  I  saw  they  must  turn  a  little,  and 
give  me  a  chance  at  them  as  they  went  down  toward  the 
Jordan.  It  happened  as  I  expected.  As  they  found 
themselves  on  the  edge  of  the  abrupt  precipice,  they 
turned  and  crossed  in  front  of  me,  and  I  sent  a  ball  from 
my  Colt  at  the  large  one  who  led  the  drove.  But  I  was 
going  too  fast  for  a  steady  aim,  and  missed  him.  The 
next,  and  the  next  disappeared  over  the  bank,  and  I 
shouted  to  Mohammed  to  stop.  He  brought  up  as  if  he 
had  struck  a  wall,  his  feet  plunging  and  sliding  in  the 
loose,  red  soil,  and  then  I  had  a  fair  sight  at  the  last  but 
one.  He  stumbled  as  I  shot,  and  went  rolling  down  the 
hill. 

I  rode  back  slowly,  with  my  game  across  my  horse’s 
neck,  and  joined  the  party  an  hour  ahead  on  the  road. 

Just  as  I  came  up  with  them,  we  met  a  Bedouin  going 
down  toward  Tiberias.  He  paused,  and  asked  if  we 
were  going  to  Damascus,  “  Es  Shem,”  and  strongly  urged 
us  not  to  make  the  attempt.  He  told  us  that  the  Druses 
were  in  a  state  of  great  excitement  on  the  side  of  Mount 
Hermon,  and  were  murdering  travelers,  of  all  creeds  and 
kinds ;  that  we  should  never  reach  Damascus  alive,  and 
sundry  similar  consolatory  assurances.  We  felt  much 
encouraged  by  his  story,  and  began  to  think  there  was 
excitement  ahead.  We  came  so  near  it  as  this,  that  we 
helped  bury  a  man  who  was  shot  by  a  Druse  on  the  side 
of  Mount  Hermon  four  days  after  this,  but  we  had  no 
fighting  on  our  own  account. 


390 


MILL  OF  MALAHA. 


All  the  afternoon,  we  had  been  looking  down  from  the 
hills  over  which  we  were  riding,  on  the  plain  of  El  Hooleh, 
and  the  waters  of  Merom,  now  called  the  lake  El  Hooleh. 
Toward  evening,  we  had  come  up  with  the  lake,  though 
we  were  much  to  the  west  of  it,  and  at  length,  fording  a 
strong  stream  of  water  by  a  rude  mill,  we  found  the  time 
so  late  that  I  ordered  a  halt,  and  decided  to  pitch  the 
tents  here  instead  of  going  on  further,  as  we  had  at  first 
intended. 

The  stream  of  which  I  have  spoken,  had  its  source 
close  by  our  camp-ground.  Indeed,  the  old  mill  was 
actually  at  the  outlet  of  a  magnificent  spring,  a  pond  of 
a  hundred  feet  in  diameter,  nearly  circular,  which  poured 
out  a  fine  strong  stream,  amply  sufficient  for  all  the  pur¬ 
poses  of  New  York  city.  Such  a  fountain  on  Manhattan 
island  would  render  the  Croton  aqueduct  unnecessary. 
The  pond  was  filled  with  fish.  They  crowded  each  other, 
large,  noble  fellows,  quite  eighteen  inches  long,  by  hun¬ 
dreds.  But  no  inducements  of  bait  that  I  could  invent, 
would  persuade  them  to  touch  the  hook,  and  I  passed  the 
time  till  dark  in  a  vain  attempt  to  take  even  one. 

Night  came  down  on  us  with  all  the  beauty  of  a  Syrian 
night,  starry  and  moony,  and  the  dashing  stream  made 
the  music  to  which  we  slept  by  the  mill  of  Malaha. 

I  can  not  say  that  our  dreams  that  night  were  different 
from  usual,  nor  do  I  remember  that  we  dreamed  of  home 
with  more  or  less  distinctness  than  on  other  nights.  I 
only  know,  as  I  have  already  said,  that  the  day  previous 
had  appeared  long,  and  sad,  and  weary,  and  that  we  felt 
as  if  leaving  Holy  Land. 

The  wind  was  cold  and  mournful  around  the  tents. 
Thrice  before  I  slept  I  walked  out  into  the  gloom,  and 
listened  to  the  dash  of  the  strong  stream  that  went  hur¬ 
rying  down  to  the  Jordan  and  the  sea  of  Galilee,  to  rest 
a  little  while  there  in  sunshine,  and  then  go  down  to 


OUR  BROTHER. 


397 


death  in  the  Dead  Sea.  There  was  a  stork,  which  I  had 
shot,  lying  on  the  ground  before  the  tent,  white  and 
ghostly.  The  wind  fluttered  the  flag  over  my  head,  and 
soughed  over  the  ropes.  I  met  Moreright  once.  He, 
too,  was  restless. 

“  Is  it  not  a  dismal  night  ?”  said  he. 

“  I  don’t  half  like  the  neighborhood,”  was  my  reply. 
u  Rumor  speaks  of  it  as  not  the  safest  part  of  Syria.” 

That  night  was  mournful  elsewhere.  Had  we  known 
the  bitterness  of  the  cup  that  those  we  loved  were  that 
night  drinking,  we  had  not  slept  so  calmly  in  our  tents 
on  the  Hooleh  plain.  For  while  we  slept,  the  sun  of  a 
southern  winter  was  going  westward  over  the  forests  of 
Florida,  and  among  them  our  brother  Charlie,  best  and 
noblest  of  brothers,  was  passing  heavenward  by  that  road, 
which,  dark  as  it  seems  to  our  eyes,  is,  thank  God,  no 
longer  or  more  difficult  where  he  entered  on  it,  than  it  is 
above  the  hills  of  Holy  Land,  or  his  and  our  home. 

How  we  loved  that  boy,  those  who  read  these  lines  and 
knew  him  will  well  understand  ;  and  they  will  pardon  this 
pause  to  speak  of  him.  His  brief  life  was  brilliant — his 
memory  is  blessed.  Ardent  and  ambitious,  but  no  more 
so  than  the  ability  of  his  fine  intellect  warranted,  he  had 
already  won  honors  that  friends  might  well  be  proud  of, 
and  the  future  was  full  of  promise.  All  that  is  over  now, 
and  he  has  found  other  fields  in  which  to  wander,  where, 
if  ambition  have  power  over  the  soul,  its  aim  is  the  foot 
of  the  throne,  where  all  thirst  is  perfectly  satisfied  in 
abundant  waters. 

Strange  scenes  of  contrast!  We  were  in  tents  on  the 
Jordan  plain,  and  the  wail  of  the  night  wind,  and  the 
'sound  of  the  dashing  stream  were  around  us.  They  were 
bending  above  his  couch  in  the  light  of  the  afternoon  sun, 
listening  for  the  last  breath  of  lips  whose  utterances  had 
always  been  eloquent  of  love.  Miriam,  his  sister,  lay 


098 


PEACE!  PEACE! 


breathing  calmly  as  the  visions  of  soft  sleep  stole  over 
her,  and  if  perchance  the  wind  or  the  dashing  stream 
made  her  turn  restiessly,  it  was  but  to  sleep  more  pro¬ 
foundly  and  dream  of  the  sea  breeze  at  home,  and  the 
dash  of  the  waves  on  the  old  sea-wall  at  the  foot  of  the 
garden,  where  he  and  she  had  gazed  eastward  in  child¬ 
hood  along  the  silver  path  of  the  rising  moon,  and  won¬ 
dered  whether  they  would  ever  cross  the  sea  to  lands  of 
sunrise  on  ancient  glory. 

When  the  sun  came  up  over  the  hills  of  the  Ilowaran, 
and  far  above  us,  white  and  grand,  stood  the  silver  sum¬ 
mit  of  Hermon,  with  the  glory  of  the  sunlight  resting  on 
its  brow,  the  darkness  had  closed  in  on  them,  and  they 
sat,  bowed  with  grief,  beside  the  silent  form  that  had  been 
our  brother.  But  he  was  not  there,  he  was  above  the 
summit  of  all  hills  of  earthly  sorrow,  above  the  very 
stars. 

O  sudden  change  !  But  now  he  was  in  the  arms  that 
had  clasped  him  closest  from  childhood  even  till  now — 
and  she  was  lying  asleep  on  the  barren  and  desolate  plain 
this  side  the  Jordan,  weary  with  travel  over  the  hills  of 
Holy  Land.  One  moment  more,  and  he  was  beyond  the 
river,  in  the  land  whose  fields  of  exceeding  beauty  this 
Canaan  never  equaled,  whose  rivers  flow  with  perfect 
joy,  whose  valleys  are  the  peace  that  passeth  understand¬ 
ing,  whose  mountains  are  the  eternal  greatness  and 
majesty  of  God’s  love. 

It  was  not  till  long  afterward,  while  we  were  in  Greece, 
that  we  heard  of  it.  In  the  same  newspaper,  handed  us 
by  our  friend,  that  noble  missionary,  Dr.  King,  we  read 
of  the  death  of  two  of  our  kindred — our  father  and  our 
brother.  There  are  two  spots  to  which  our  memories 
now,  and  forever  till  we  cross  the  river,  go  back  with  de¬ 
vout  earnestness ;  spots  where  their  eyes,  unvailed,  un¬ 
dimmed,  first  saw  us  in  our  wanderings.  The  one,  Mount 


SOURCES  OF  THE  JORDAN. 


399 


Lebanon,  above  Damascus,  the  other  the  Hooleh  plain, 
by  the  mill  of  Malaha. 

Next  day  we  crossed  the  plain  of  El  Hooleh,  and  at 
noon  reached  the  dark  ravine  where  the  Hasbeiyah  river 
comes  down  from  the  mountains  of  Lebanon.  We  paused 
for  luncheon  on  a  somewhat  singular  hill  at  the  head  of 
the  valley,  where  two  streams  of  water,  brought  in  arti¬ 
ficial  channels  from  the  north-west  and  north-east,  met 
and  were  turned  on  the  wheel  of  a  mill.  These  mills  of 
the  north  of  Syria  began  now  to  abound,  and  I  was 
amused  at  their  simple  style.  The  wheel  was  horizontal, 
and  the  water  rushing  down  a  spout  struck  the  arms,  or 
spokes,  for  they  were  nothing  else,  and  turned  it  around. 
Each  arm  was  a  flat  piece  of  wood,  driven  into  the  up¬ 
right  axle,  and  presenting  a  flat  side  to  the  passing 
stream.  The  upper  end  of  the  axle  was  fixed  in  the 
mill-stone,  so  that  there  was  no  bother  about  the  gear. 
The  water  turned  the  stone  directly.  Where  water  costs 
nothing,  the  plan  is  very  well  for  coarse  flour,  and  no  one 
in  these  countries  dreams  of  fine  meal. 

The  Jordan,  as  a  river,  has  its  origin  in  the  lake  El 
Hooleh.  Above  this  travelers  and  commentators  differ 
as  to  its  sources,  but  there  is  no  necessity  for  any  differ¬ 
ence.  The  lake  is  supplied  by  numerous  large  springs, 
such  as  that  at  Malaha,  and  one  at  Souhain,  two  miles 
north  of  the  former.  But  beside  these  a  fine  stream  of 
water  comes  down  from  Hasbeiyah,  which,  if  the  most 
remote  source  be  taken  as  the  true  source,  is  the  true 
Jordan.  East  of  this,  on  the  south-west  slope  of  Mount 
Hermon,  among  its  ravines,  lies  the  ancient  Panias,  now 
called  Banias,  at  which  is  a  large  fountain,  of  which  I 
shall  speak.  Between  this  and  the  Hasbeiyah  river  is  the 
site  of  ancient  Dan,  now  called  Tell-el-Khady,  where  is 
another  magnificent  outburst  of  water.  These  three  are 
the  chief  supplies  of  the  lake,  and  are  the  sources  of  the 


400 


ARRIVAL  AT  BANIAS. 


Jordan.  It  is  a  matter  of  taste  in  each  traveler  to  select 
which  he  pleases  as  the  true  head-water  of  the  sacred  river. 

While  we  were  sitting  at  luncheon  on  the  hill  I  have 
described,  our  attention  was  attracted  at  seeing  due  south, 
right  down  the  valley  of  El  Hooleh  and  the  Jordan,  in 
the  far  distance,  a  blue  hill.  Whether  this  was  or  was 
not  Pisgah,  it  was  manifest  that  Moses  from  Pisgali  could 
see  to  this  spot,  and  that  the  whole  Land  of  Promise, 
from  Dan  to  Beerslieba,  lay  before  his  eyes.  It  opened  a 
new  and  sublime  idea  to  my  mind,  that  of  the  lawgiver’s 
last  view,  when  I  understood  that  his  vision  took  in  Her- 
mon  and  the  hills  of  the  southern  desert,  as  well  as  Ebal 
and  Gerizim,  and  Moriah  and  Zion. 

We  entered  the  gorge  of  the  Hasbeiyah,  and  rode  up  its 
right  bank  till  we  found  an  ancient  bridge  of  a  single  arch 
spanning  the  ravine.  It  was  a  wild  and  beautiful  spot. 
The  foaming  river,  the  old  bridge  over  which  our  horses 
stepped  cautiously,  for  the  stones  were  slippery,  and  a 
misstep  would  send  us  fifty  feet  down  into  the  boiling 
stream,  the  high,  precipitous  hills,  and  the  screams  of 
an  eagle  that  was  sailing  down  the  ravine  as  if  started 
from  her  nest  by  our  presence,  all  made  as  vivid  and 
jiicturesque  a  scene  as  could  well  be  imagined. 

We  soon  arrived  at  Tell-el-Khady,  the  site  of  Dan,  and 
much  the  finest  fountain  we  had  yet  seen.  It  is  a  broad 
deep  basin,  pouring  out  a  splendid  stream.  No  houses  or 
ruins  are  near. 

Three  fourths  of  an  hour  from  this,  passing  through 
groves  of  oaks  and  olives  and  a  luxuriant  growth  of  vari¬ 
ous  trees,  we  found  ourselves  suddenly  on  the  border  of 
what  appeared  to  be  a  collection  of  ruined  stone  houses, 
among  which  a  strong  stream  was  pouring  and  dashing 
down  precipitous  rocks  in  one  white  sheet  of  foam  for 
half  a  mile.  This  was  Caesarea-Philippi,  the  modern 
Banias,  and  in  all  ages  the  reputed  source  of  the  Jordan. 


G*e$qlve9  £  foil  ip  pi. 

Mount  Hermon  is  the  most  southern  and  the  highest 
hill  of  Anti-Lebanon.  It  looks  down  on  Palestine  to  the 
south,  on  Damascus  and  its  great  plain  toward  the  east, 
and  on  the  hills  and  valleys  of  the  Lebanon  country  to  the 
north  and  west.  On  the  southern  side  the  hill  falls  off 
among  many  ravines,  and  its  wild  gorges  lead  out  to  a  some¬ 
what  extensive  plateau,  or  terrace,  which  in  turn  falls  off 
to  the  great  plain  of  El  Hooleh. 

On  this  terrace  Panias  was  built,  and  among  the  ruins 
of  its  ancient  buildings  the  modern  Banias  is  found.  On 
the  point  of  a  high  bluff  of  rock  which  overlooks  the 
plain  are  the  two  white  domes  of  a  Mohammedan  tomb 
or  wely.  To  all  comers  from  the  south  this  marks,  for  a 
day  before  they  reach  it,  the  site  of  the  great  spring  of  the 
Jordan. 

On  the  side  of  the  rock,  sixty  feet  above  the  level  of 
the  highest  part  of  the  terrace,  is  a  cavernous  opening. 
Its  front  is  partly  filled  up  with  the  debris  of  the  mount¬ 
ain,  which  has  fallen  before  it,  and  gradually  filled  it,  so 
that,  to  enter  the  cave,  you  must  descend  considerably. 
Within  there  is  nothing.  It  is  dry,  except  in  rainy 
weather,  when  a  pool  forms  in  it  from  water  running  in. 

At  the  right  of  this  cavern,  on  the  face  of  the  rock,  are 
three  sculptured  niches,  in  which  probably  statues  once 
stood,  with  inscriptions  near  them. 


402 


FOUNTAIN  OF  BANIAS. 


The  water  flows  out  below  the  debris,  which  fills  up 
the  front  of  the  cavern.  Possibly  in  remote  times  it  may 
have  flowed  from  the  cavern  itself,  but  not  within  many 
centuries. 

From  under  this  pile  of  stone  the  water  gushes  out 
over  a  space,  a  hundred  feet  wide,  and  nowhere  more 
than  a  few  inches  deep.  It  gathers  toward  one  point, 
where  it  commences  its  descent,  and  is  here  a  strong 
stream.  It  is  difficult  to  state  the  size  of  a  stream  of 
water  so  that  a  reader  can  obtain  an  idea  of  its  volume. 
I  may  remark  of  this,  however,  that  it  probably  pours 
out  more  water  in  an  hour  than  the  entire  Croton  aque¬ 
duct  could  carry  off*  in  a  day.  Its  descent  from  the 
springs  is  rapid,  and  it  must  fall  several  hundred  feet 
within  a  mile.  Its  course  is  one  strong,  foaming  current, 
in  which  no  horse  or  man  could  by  any  possibility  stand 
erect.  I  desired  to  take  fish  in  it,  and  rigged  my  tackle, 
but,  except  within  the  village  of  Banias,  where  its  flow  is 
broad  and  shallow,  I  could  not  within  a  mile  and  a  half 
find  a  place  where  the  swift  current  ceased,  or  where 
there  was  an  eddy  or  a  basin  in  which  a  fish  could  lie.  A 
trout  fisherman  will  readily  appreciate  what  a  stream  it 
was,  when  I  tell  him  that  the  current  was  so  strong  for 
this  distance,  that  there  was  no  place  for  a  trout  to  lie, 
not  even  under  the  lee  of  a  rock. 

This  is  the  great  source  of  the  river  Jordan,  and 
has  been  esteemed  the  true  Jordan  in  all  ages,  though, 
as  I  have  already  remarked,  the  Hasbeiyah  river,  which  is 
much  smaller,  has  a  more  remote  source  at  the  fountains 
near  that  place. 

These  strong  fountains  are  a  characteristic  of  this  part 
of  the  world.  The  great  fountains  of  the  Jordan,  and 
those  which  I  have  mentioned  at  Malaha  and  Souhain, 
as  well  as  several  on  the  bank  of  the  sea  of  Galilee,  and 
that  of  Elisha  at  Jericho  are  alike  grand. 


LAST  NIGHT  ON  HOLY  SOIL. 


40  3 


It  was  our  last  night  on  the  holy  soil.  Here,  for  the 
last  time,  we  were  treading  in  the  footsteps  of  the  Lord, 
and,  henceforth,  in  our  wanderings  over  the  surface  of 
the  world,  wTe  were  to  walk  on  the  common  earth  that 
his  presence  had  never  sanctified.  It  was  a  cold,  sad, 
evening.  The  tents  were  pitched  in  a  grove  of  olive- 
trees  on  the  banks  of  the  stream,  just  where  it  made  a 
bold,  white  plunge  of  thirty  feet,  and  roared  like  a  small 
Niagara.  The  night  passed  slowly  with  wailing  winds. 
All  night  the  olives  moaned  and  the  stream  roared,  now 
rising  in  tone,  now  falling,  as  if  the  spirits  of  the  grotto 
of  Pan  were  among  their  old  haunts. 

In  the  morning  we  parted  from  our  friends,  Dr.  Bonar 
and  his  party,  who  had  been  most  pleasant  companions 
thus  far,  and  who  now  turned  back. 

This  great  fountain  attracted  the  inhabitants  of  the 
world  in  its  early  days,  and,  doubtless,  here  was  a  temple 
to  Baal  long  before  Pan  reigned  in  the  forests.  The 
Greeks  gave  it  its  name  of  Panias,  and  in  the  days  of  Ti¬ 
berius  Caesar  when  Philip  was  Tetrarch,  he  beautified  the 
place  and  called  it  Caesarea,  adding  his  own  name  Phil¬ 
ippi  to  distinguish  it  from  Caesarea  on  the  coast  of  the 
Mediterranean.  While  it  held  this  name  it  was  honored 
by  the  visits  of  Christ,  and  near  it,  on  some  one  of  the 
mountains  around  it,  I  have  no  doubt,  occurred  the  sub¬ 
lime  mystery  of  the  transfiguration.  In  the  days  of 
Nero  the  place  was  called  Neronias,  but,  after  this,  ap¬ 
pears  to  have  resumed  its  old  name,  and  here,  after  the 
fall  of  Jerusalem,  Titus  celebrated  triumphant  games, 
and  caused  his  Jewish  'prisoners  to  fight  as  gladiators  for 
the  amusement  of  his  people. 

Later  than  this  the  Christians  made  it  the  seat  of  a 
bishopric,  and  in  the  times  of  the  Crusades  it  became  the 
north-eastern  key  of  the  Holy  Land,  and  its  great  de¬ 
fence  against  Noureddin  the  Caliph  of  Damascus,  and 


404  A  RUINED  CASTLE. 

Salah-e’deen  his  successor.  The  Arabs  have  substituted 
a  B  for  the  P  in  its  name,  and  call  it  Banias,  by  which 
name  few  now  recognize  the  ancient  Caesarea-Philippi. 

Ruins  abound  in  and  around  the  village,  but  the  most 
imposing  of  all  these  is  the  great  Khulet-el-Banias,  Castle 
of  Banias,  on  a  high  hill  east  of  the  town,  one  hour  dis¬ 
tant  from  it.  Riding  through  the  village  I  bought,  as 
usual,  coins,  and  one  beautiful  antique  cornelian,  and  we 
then  made  our  way  out  to  the  castle. 

I  have  wandered  over  many  of  the  ruins  of  feudal 
times  in  Europe,  and  have  visited  some  of  the  best  pre¬ 
served  relics  of  ancient  castles  in  France  and  in  Germany, 
but  I  have  never  seen  as  imposing  a  ruin  of  those  days  as 
is  this  vast  castle.  The  hill  is  very  steep  on  all  sides,  and 
rises,  perhaps,  a  thousand  feet  above  Banias.  It  is  an 
isolated,  conical  peak,  surrounded  with  deep  valleys. 
The  ridge  of  the  summit  is  about  a  thousand  feet  long 
from  east  to  west,  varying  in  width,  the  eastern  end 
being  a  little  the  highest.  This  entire  ridge  is  inclosed 
within  the  walls  of  the  castle,  which  still  frown  on 
the  stranger  on  all  sides.  Entrance  can  be  had  only 
at  the  one  gateway,  dismantled  now,  indeed,  but  still 
capable  of  a  gallant  defence  in  its  ruins.  The  place  ap¬ 
pears  impregnable  :  one  can  not  imagine  how,  before  the 
days  of  gunpowder,  it  was  ever  conquered,  and  yet 
it  did  change  hands  often  during  the  times  of  the  Christ¬ 
ian  kingdom  of  Jerusalem.  The  keep  was  at  the  eastern 
end,  flanked  by  four  massive  square  stone  towers,  that 
looked  down  a  thousand  feet  into  the  bed  of  a  mount¬ 
ain  torrent.  From  this  the  walls  Yun  on  each  side  of  the 
ridge  to  the  western  end,  where  are  the  ruins  of  large 
towers,  and  especially  of  immense  cisterns,  cut  in  the  rock 
and  arched  over  with  pointed  arches.  The  workmanship  of 
these  cisterns  is  remarkably  fine.  A  subterranean  pass¬ 
age,  which  was  supposed  to  lead  hence  to  the  city  of 


CASTLE  OF  BANIAS. 


405 


Banias,  is  now  choked  up.  From  the  ruined  tower  at 
this  end  the  view  over  the  plain  of  El  Ilooleh  is  very 
fine,  even  to  the  distant  hills  of  Safed  (of  which  we  could 
see  the  castles),  Tabor  and  Gilboa.  But  most  of  all  our 
eyes  were  fixed  on  the  little  village  at  our  very  feet, 
where  the  Lord  said  to  Peter,  “  On  this  rock  will  I  build 
my  church,”  and  whence  the  waters  of  the  Jordan  flow, 
as  in  his  days  two  thousand  years  ago. 

It  would  be  vain  to  deny  that  our  minds  and  lips  were 
much  occupied  with  imaginary  histories  of  the  castle  on 
which  we  now  stood.  Could  its  stones  but  have  voices 
we  should  hear  tales  of  romance  that  would  keej)  us 
listening  forever.  The  light  feet  of  beautiful  women  had 
moved  along  these  pavements  in  knightly  days,  and 
mailed  men  had  trodden  these  ruined  halls  in  times 
of  doubt,  and  strife,  and  despair.  Could  but  the  fair 
love  of  Raynor  Brus  spring  into  life  before  us,  what  a 
vision  of  beauty  would  it  be.  For  Raynor  Brus  was  lord 
of  Banias  when  the  castle  fell,  and  the  wail  of  despair 
that  rang  down  these  wild  gorges  of  the  mountain  when 
the  Turk  rushed  into  the  lady’s  bower,  sounded  in  my 
ears  again  as  I  leaned  over  the  wall  and  looked  far  below, 
and  wondered  whether  she  cast  herself  headlong  down 
to  escape  a  fate  worse  than  death  to  a  Christian  lady. 

The  morning  passed  by  as  we  yet  lingered.  A  pistol- 
shot  on  the  hill-side  two  miles  to  the  southward,  gave  us 
notice  that  Abd-el-Atti  was  waiting  at  the  appointed 
rendezvous,  and  we  remounted  our  horses  to  descend  the 
hill.  The  castle  was  inhabited  by  a  family,  among  whom 
were  two  women  wearing  the  horn,  which  is  seen  as  a 
peculiar  costume  in  this  part  of  the  country  and  through¬ 
out  Lebanon.  It  is  a  high  support  for  a  vail  or  headdress, 
usually  made  of  silver,  being  a  round  tube,  three  inches 
in  diameter  at  the  bottom  and  two  at  the  top,  placed  on 
the  head  over  the  centre  of  the  forehead.  They  were 


406 


A  HUN  DOWN  HILL. 


very  good-natured  about  allowing  Miriam  to  examine  it, 
and  begged  moderately  when  we  departed. 

I  said  little  about  the  difficulty  of  the  ascent  to  the 
castle.  It  was  nothing  to  the  going  down.  But  our 
horses  were  safe  on  ice  if  the  angle  was  within  forty-five 
degrees,  and  we  gave  them  loose  reins,  and  freedom  to 
find  their  own  way  down. 

There  was  one  spot  where  the  descent  became  suddenly 
more  steep.  Mohammed  had  kept  his  feet  and  his  tem¬ 
per  well  till  he  reached  it,  and  then  his  self-control  was 
gone.  He  could  not  stand  it,  and,  to  my  very  near  over¬ 
throw,  he  went  off  like  an  arrow.  There  was  perhaps 
three  hundred  feet  of  descent  to  be  accomplished,  and 
doAvn  we  went.  He  must  have  cleared  thirty  feet  at 
every  leap,  and,  looking  behind  me,  I  saw  the  bay  and 
the  chestnut  following.  There  was  a  grove  of  olive-trees 
ahead,  and  Ave  went  through  them,  dodging  the  limbs 
with  difficulty.  I  believe  the  only  accident  of  the  descent 
was  Miriam’s  loss  of  a  part  of  her  riding-dress  on  a  bush, 
as  she  went  over  it.  It  was  next  to  miraculous  that  we 
reached  the  bottom  alive. 

Our  route  now  lay  over  the  south-east  side  of  Mount 
Hermon.  For  some  hours  we  continued  to  ascend,  until 
we  were  among  thick  fogs,  and  nearly  frozen  with  cold. 
It  Avas  late  in  the  afternoon  when  the  Aveather  partially 
cleared  off,  and  the  wind  was  now  exceedingly  piercing. 
We  Avere  approaching  the  country  in  Avhich  Ave  had  been 
assured  Ave  should  have  danger.  We  had  looked  carefully 
to  our  arms  in  the  morning.  We  did  not  much  else  with 
them  in  all  our  travels  than  to  look  at  them.  Yet  their 
presence  Avhen  others  looked  at  them  was  ahvays  impres¬ 
sive  ;  and  there  Avere  several  instances  in  which  I  think  I 
should  have  suffered  but  for  the  silent  arguments  of  the 
handles  of  pistols  in  my  shawl. 

I  rode  this  day,  somewhat  rudely,  it  is  true,  across  a 


VIEW  OF  BANIAS. 


407 


field  of  beans  just  springing  up.  I  bad  missed  the  path, 
and  was  obliged  to  cross  this  to  recover  my  way.  A  na¬ 
tive,  apparently  a  Druse,  hailed  me  with  loud  shouts  that 
were  home-like.  It  was  right  pleasant  to  be  warned  oft* 
a  man’s  lot  of  land.  This  was  the  first  fellah,  in  all  the 
East,  whom  I  had  met  that  had  enough  spirit  to  do  it. 
It  was  a  matter  of  necessity  for  me,  however,  and  I 
laughed  and  rode  directly  toward  him.  He  swore  at  me 
in  decided  Bowery  style,  and  even  when  I  came  near 
him  continued  his  vociferations ;  but  the  sight  of  the 
civilizers  calmed  him  much,  and  I  passed  him  in  silence. 
Toward  sunset,  the  road,  which  had  been  over  high  land, 
in  close  proximity  to  the  snow  banks  on  our  left,  began 
suddenly  and  rapidly  to  descend  in  a  mountain  gorge, 
and  at  length  we  reached  the  fork  of  this  with  another 
coming  down  from  Mount  Hermon.  At  this  fork,  down 
in  the  depth  of  the  ravine,  was  a  village  whereof  the  name 
is  Beit  Jin,  the  abode  of  the  evil  spirit. 


26. 


J  If) e  S  £  to  £  of  if  e  Sr  inf)  o  o 


“  Ha,  Mohammed,  thou  seest  not  an  open  grave  for  the 
first  time !” 

The  horse  had  sheered  suddenly,  and  nearly  dropped 
me  prematurely  into  the  open  bosom  of  earth;  for  a  grave 
was  dug  at  the  very  side  of  the  path,  and  not  yet  occu¬ 
pied.  As  we  entered  the  village,  a  loud  wailing,  that 
filled  the  mountain  gorge,  and  echoed  from  its  sides, 
greeted  our  ears  with  strange  effect.  It  indicated  the 
death  of  some  person  of  importance.  We  rode  down  the 
gorge  to  the  lower  end  of  the  village,  near  a  stone  build¬ 
ing  that  answered  the  purposes  of  a  mosk.  We  dis¬ 
mounted  in  a  grove  of  large  trees,  which  we  did  not 
recognize  in  their  leafless  state,  but  which  we  afterward 
learned  were  English  walnut,  the  fruit  of  which  is  vul¬ 
garly  known  in  America  as  Madeira-nut — and  on  the 
bank  of  a  strong  mountain  torrent,  whose  origin  was  a 
large  spring  higher  up  the  valley,  known  to  the  natives 
as  Ain-el-Hemy.  Here  we  waited  the  arrival  of  the  tents 
and  baggage,  which  we  had  passed  on  the  mountain. 

This  was  a  most  picturesque  site  for  a  village.  The 
two  mountain  gorges,  which  came  down  to  a  point,  went 
on  to  the  east  in  one  deep  ravine,  whose  sharp  sides  stood 
uj)  almost  perpendicularly  eight  hundred  feet ;  so  that 
looking  eastward  we  saw  the  sky  cut  down  to  a  triangu- 


A  MOSLEM  VILLAGE. 


409 


lar  shape,  and  against  it  the  sharp  lines  of  the  rocky  clift', 
while  north,  south,  and  west  the  blue  was  on  the  hill-tops, 
a  thousand  feet  above  us.  The  village  was  on  the  middle 
bluff,  and  on  the  north  side  of  the  ravine.  The  south 
side  of  the  south  branch,  and  of  the  main  ravine,  was  oc¬ 
cupied  by  the  graves  of  the  villagers.  The  living  were 
over-against  the  dead. 

The  inhabitants  of  that  half  of  the  village  on  the  middle 
bluff  were  all  Shereef,  descendants  of  the  Prophet,  while 
the  ordinary  Mussulmans  lived  on  the  north  side  of  the 
stream.  This  is  the  river  Sebarini,  which  flows  down  to 
the  great  plain  of  Damascus. 

We  climbed  the  bluff  to  examine  some  rock-tombs  over 
the  village  of  the  Shereef,  facing  down  the  ravine.  One 
was  very  large,  containing  nine  apartments,  separated  by 
square  stone  columns  supporting  arched  roofs,  and  each 
chamber  containing  couches  similar  to  those  around  Jeru¬ 
salem. 

There  were  some  very  curious  tombs  near  this,  entirely 
different  from  any  thing  I  had  seen  or  heard  of  in  any 
other  part  of  the  world.  They  were  hewn  into  the  per¬ 
pendicular  face  of  the  rock,  and  shaped  for  the  reception 
of  two  sarcophagi.  The  front  or  doorway,  which  was  of 
the  same  shape  and  size  as  the  interior,  was  almost  coffin- 
shaped,  about  six  feet  high,  but  in  the  longer  sides  of  the 
coffin,  about  half  the  height  of  the  door,  were  elbows, 
making  the  upper  part  suddenly  a  foot  wider  than  the 
lower.  Thus  one  sarcophagus  could  be  placed  in  the 
lower  part  and  another  above  it,  resting  on  these  ledges 
or  elbows. 

While  we  were  looking  at  the  tombs  we  heard  the 
wailing  in  the  village  below  us  suddenly  grow  louder,  and 
saw  women  running  up  and  down  the  street  with  dish¬ 
eveled  clothes  and  faces  exposed,  indicating  the  utmost 
abandonment  to  grief.  A  few  moments  later  a  procession 

18 


410 


A  BURIAL.  ' 


was  formed  in  front  of  one  of  the  principal  mud  houses, 
and  with  loud  cries  and  wailings  marched  toward  the 
grave,  the  occupancy  of  which  I  had  escaped.  They  car¬ 
ried  four  large,  gorgeous  silk  banners,  whose  vast  folds 
waved  furiously  in  the  wind  that  swept  down  the  valley. 
By  these  we  knew  that  a  descendant  of  the  Prophet  had 
gone  to  his  ancestor’s  place. 

Four  strong  men  carried  a  bier  on  their  shoulders, 
upon  which  lay  the  body  of  a  man,  with  his  face  exposed. 
We  descended  the  hill,  and  readied  the  burial-place  just 
as  the  procession  did.  It  wras  our  intention  to  stand  at  a 
distance  and  witness  the  ceremonies ;  but  so  soon  as  they 
saw  us  approaching,  the  group  of  a  hundred  men  and 
women  parted,  leaving  an  open  line  up  to  the  head  of  the 
grave.  An  old  man,  the  sheik  of  the  village  pro  tern., 
walked  down  toward  us,  and  led  us  to  the  side  of  the 
shallow  resting-place,  near  which  the  dead  man  was  now 
lying  on  the  bier. 

From  the  first  we  had  observed  that  there  was  some¬ 
thing  unusual  in  all  this  scene.  I  had  seen  some  scores, 
not  to  say  hundreds,  of  Moslems  hurried  into  the  grave, 
but  I  had  never  seen  as  slow  and  impressive  mourning  as 
this ;  and  the  fact  that  we  were  received  with  such  marked 
attention  added  to  my  conviction  that  it  was  not  an  ordi¬ 
nary  occasion. 

There  were  four  old  men  standing  at  the  head  of  the 
grave,  whose  turbans  and  white  beards  made  them  seem 
remarkably  venerable.  One  of  them,  as  we  came  near, 
laid  his  hand  on  my  shoulder,  and  in  a  broken  voice,  full 
of  pain  and  yet  full  of  passion,  said,  “  Mafish  Sultan,  Mafish 
Pasha,  Bus  Druse” — “  there  is  no  sultan,  there  is  no 
governor — nothing  but  Druses.” 

The  whole  truth  flashed  on  me  in  an  instant.  This  man 
had  been  shot  by  a  Druse.  Then,  before  they  buried 
him,  the  old  man  addressed  us  across  the  grave  ;  and  we 


THE  DRUSES. 


411 


stood,  three  Americans,  surrounded  by  a  hundred  wild¬ 
looking  Moslems,  while  he  related,  to  us,  in  simple  and 
touching  eloquence,  the  story  of  their  wrongs. 

There  was  no  romance  about  it  at  all.  It  was  a  simple, 
stern  history  of  trial,  trouble,  wrong,  and  death,  and  we 
were  appealed  to  as  foreigners  who  might  aid  the  villag¬ 
ers  in  obtaining  justice  from  the  government,  which  was 
refused  to  their  solicitations. 

Beit  Jin  is  a  Moslem  village  in  the  heart  of  the  Druse 
country. 

The  Druses  are  originally  an  offshoot  of  the  Moham¬ 
medans,  and  trace  their  origin  to  the  Egyptian  crazy  Ka- 
lif,  El  Hakim.  No  man  is  able  to  say  what  is  their  creed, 
or  what  their  worship,  for  it  is  conducted  in  profound 
secrecy  in  hidden  places,  to  which  no  Moslem,  Christian, 
stranger,  or  uninitiated  Druse  is  admitted.  None  but 
the  faithful  of  their  own  sect,  and  few  of  these,  know  any 
thing  of  their  worship.  With  the  rest,  it  is  blind  faith 
that  it  is  all  right,  and  they  don’t  know  whether  they 
worship  God  or  the  devil.  But  enmity  to  the  Mussulman 
has  always  been  a  part  of  Druse  faith  and  practice,  and 
as  Beit  Jin  has  always  been  regarded  as  a  nuisance  from 
its  isolated  position  among  them,  there  had  now  been 
going  on,  for  a  long  time,  a  war  of  extermination  against 
its  inhabitants.  Fifteen  had  been  shot  within  three  months 
— shot  down  in  the  fields  by  assassins  lurking  behind  rocks. 
It  was  no  unusual  tiling  for  a  bullet  to  come  down  through 
the  side  of  a  house  in  the  village,  in  the  night,  sent  at  ran¬ 
dom  from  some  high  rock  a  thousand  feet  above  the  vil¬ 
lage,  by  a  Druse.  This  man,  now  dead,  had  been  the 
most  valiant  defender  of  the  village,  and  with  his  own 
hand  had  killed  five  Druses.  This  morning,  while  walk¬ 
ing  in  a  field  on  the  edge  of  the  village,  he  was  shot  dead 
by  an  unknown  foe.  The  villagers  had  in  vain  appealed 
to  the  Pasha  of  Damascus  for  protection.  All  that  the 


\ 


412 


THE  BURIAL. 


pasha  did  for  them  was  to  collect  the  annual  tax.  He 
cared  nothing  for  their  troubles,  and  the  sheik  was  now 
at  Damascus  endeavoring  to  procure  aid  against  their 
foes. 

Such  was  the  story  that  the  old  man  told  us  over  the 
pale  face  of  the  dead  man,  to  which  he  pointed  as  a  mute 
but  powerful  witness  of  its  truth,  and  the  others,  his 
brothers  and  the  brothers  of  the  silent  witness,  bowed 
their  heads  in  solemn  asseveration  that  it  was  true. 

When  he  had  concluded,  they  addressed  themselves  to 
the  task  of  burying  their  dead,  and  lifting  the  body 
from  the  bier,  laid  it  down  in  the  shallow  grave.  lie  was 
a  tall,  strong  man.  His  features  were  set  in  a  rigid  ex¬ 
pression  of  defiance,  and  it  was  a  relief  to  have  that  fierce 
countenance  covered  out  of  sight.  They  laid  him  on  his 
side,  with  the  palm  of  his  right  hand  under  his  cheek,  his 
face  toward  the  grave  of  the  Prophet  and  the  holy  Kaaba 
at  Mecca,  for  thus  the  Prophet  himself  lies  at  Medinah, 
and  his  followers  lie  thus  around  that  centre  of  the  Mos¬ 
lem  world.  They  placed  sticks  over  him,  pushing  the 
ends  into  the  ground  on  each  side  of  the  body,  and  arch¬ 
ing  them  above  him.  It  is  customary  in  Constantinople 
and  other  places,  where  they  can  procure  boards,  to  place 
them  in  the  grave,  one  end  over  the  feet  of  the  body  and 
the  other  nearly  at  the  top  of  the  grave.  The  earth  is 
then  heaped  over  these.  By  this  means  a  place  is  left  in 
which  the  dead  man  can  sit  up  erect  when  the  two  angels 
come  to  question  him,  as  all  good  Moslems  expect  to  be 
questioned.  But  this  was  neglected  here,  and  the  little 
covering  of  sticks  being  completed,  they  threw  in  some 
brush,  and  then  the  earth. 

Before  doing  this,  all  the  company  sat  down  on  the 
ground,  and  we  sat  down  also,  and  the  old  man  led  them 
in  a  droning  song  that  was  terribly  melancholy.  Then 
the  grave  was  filled,  and  we  walked  away  to  our  tents. 


I  can  not  say  that  the  circumstance  made  us  very 
comfortable  in  our  tents.  I  had  had  some  experience  in 
a  very  common  oriental  plan  of  annoyance,  which  was 
based  on  the  fact  that  the  government  always  holds  a 
village  responsible  for  the  lives  and  property  of  travelers 
resting  in  it.  If  any  knowing  Druse  should  see  fit  to 
send  a  ball  down  on  a  roving  expedition  through  our 
tent,  he  might  get  his  Beit  Jin  enemies  into  a  scrape, 
out  of  which  they  would  hardly  extricate  themselves  by 
attempting  to  prove  that  a  Druse  did  it. 

“  You  should  have  guarded  the  strangers  better,”  is  the 
government  reply  to  such  a  plea. 

The  night  was  cold  and  cloudy,  and  a  gale  of  wind 
swept  down  the  valley,  threatening  to  tear  the  tents  away 
from  over  our  heads.  I  ordered  the  men  to  watch  dur¬ 
ing  the  night,  and  after  one  of  our  merriest  evenings  in 
the  tent,  over  coffee  and  chibouks,  we  separated. 

My  tent  was  on  the  outside  of  the  three.  Whitely  and 
Moreriglit  were  in  the  middle,  and  the  kitchen  tent  next 
the  village  and  the  bank  of  the  stream.  Miriam  was  soon 
sound  asleep.  It  is  astonishing  how  easily  a  delicate  wo¬ 
man  can  accommodate  herself  to  circumstances.  She 
would  have  taken  cold  at  home  if  a  window  were  left  an 
inch  open,  and  here,  on  the  side  of  Mount  Hermon,  with 
a  tempest  blowing  and  flapping  the  canvas,  filling  and 
swelling  the  tents,  straining  the  cords,  and  whistling  over 
them,  a  mountain  stream  brawling  and  raging  before  the 
door,  she  lay  on  a  small  iron  bedstead,  raised  a  few  inches 
above  the  bare,  damp  ground  of  the  valley,  with  the  full 
consciousness  of  the  presence  of  lurking  enemies  on  the 
hill-side,  who  might  at  any  moment  send  the  messenger 
of  death  down  through  the  thin  wall  of  our  home,  and 
yet  she  slept  as  quietly,  serenely,  and  calmly,  as  if  at 
home  in  our  own  land. 

I  felt  uneasy,  and  could  not  sleep.  The  pegs  of  the 


414 


AN  ENEMY. 


tent-cords  jerked  out  several  times,  and  the  tent  had 
nearly  gone,  but  Selim  and  Dib,  two  of  the  muleteers, 
were  on  the  watch,  and  replaced  them.  At  length,  about 
two  o’clock,  they  gave  out,  in  a  terrible  gust  of  wTind,  and 
as  no  one  touched  them,  I  knew  that  my  guard  were 
asleep,  and  sprang  out  just  in  time  to  rescue  the  whole 
establishment.  Driving  in  the  pegs,  I  went  over  to  the 
kitchen  tent  and  found  the  guard  oblivious  under  its  lee. 
I  kicked  them  up,  and  returned  to  my  own  place,  but 
paused  as  I  was  entering,  to  glance  over  the  sides  of  the 
valley,  lit  now  by  the  misty  rays  of  a  full  moon,  shining 
through  a  haze  that  threatened  a  storm.  There  was  one 
rocky  point  that  I  had  noticed  before  dark  as  command¬ 
ing  our  position  most  beautifully,  and  on  this  I  fixed  my 
eyes  now  more  intently  than  elsewhere.  Was  it  imagin¬ 
ation,  or  did  I  see  a  moving  object  on  the  surface  of  the 
flat  rock  ?  The  moonlight  certainly  shone  on  something, 
though  I  could  not  see  distinctly  what  it  was,  that  was 
not  rock.  If  it  were  a  man  why  did  he  not  now  drop 
me  ?  He  had  a  beautiful  shot  as  I  stood  out  in  my  black 
boornoose  against  the  white  tent.  I  was  not  altogether 
easy  at  that  instant.  I  had  the  sensation  of  an  entering 
bullet  in  my  throat,  breast,  brain — I  couldn’t  tell  exactly 
where  it  would  hit — but  I  felt  it  somewhere  generally,  as 
a  hoosier  might  say. 

At  all  events  I  could  not  go  to  sleep  with  that  fellow 
lying  on  the  rock,  and  now  I  began  to  reason  on  this  wise. 
If  it  is  a  man  he  must  be  an  enemy.  A  friend  would 
have  no  business  there,  and  a  villager  would  not  be  there, 
lie  can’t  be  there  with  reference  to  any  one  else,  for  his 
position  commands  our  tents  and  not  the  village.  He 
must  be  watching  us,  and  if  so,  it  is  for  no  good — and 
as  I  reasoned  I  had  gone  into  the  tent,  taken  out  my 
small  volcanic  pistol,  which  carried  a  ball  an  immense 
distance  and  was  much  preferable  to  Colt’s  for  sharp 


THE  COOK’S  BRAVERY.  415 

shooting,  and  returned  to  the  front  of  the  tent.  I  con¬ 
tinued  my  reasoning.  Shall  I  call  Selim?  No,  for  the 
Druse,  if  it  be  one,  will  see  that  we  are  talking  about 
him.  Shall  I  send  a  ball  up  at  him  ?  If  I  do  I  must  hit 
him,  or  he  will  hit  me,  as  certainly  as  I  fire.  In  short,  I 
must  bring  him  down,  so  here  goes,  and  I  threw  up  my 

!  pistol  and  sent  a  conical  ball,  whistling  as  those  hollow 
balls  always  go,  into  the  very  brain  of  the  man,  if  it  were 
a  man,  but,  as  it  proved,  into  the  breast  of  a  gray  wolf, 
that  was  waiting  for  a  chance  at  the  bones  of  Selim  and 
Betuni.  The  yell  of  his  pain  went  down  the  valley  with 
the  sound  of  the  pistol,  and  he  came  rolling  and  tumbling, 
tearing  his  own  flesh  and  yelling  with  agony,  almost  to 
my  very  feet.  Selim  despatched  him  with  a  knife,  and  I 
left  him  lying  before  Hajji  Mohammed’s  tent,  to  stiffen  in 
position  and  frighten  my  worthy  cook,  when  he  should 

iturn  out  in  the  morning.  I  had  no  more  restlessness  after 
that,  but  slept  soundly. 

I  was  roused,  at  daylight,  by  a  shout.  It  woke  me 
and  then  ceased.  There  was  a  quiet  hush  in  the  air  and 
on  the  tent,  a  soft,  low  murmur  that  contrasted  strangely 
with  the  howling  tempest  in  which  I  had  fallen  asleep. 
The  next  moment  I  heard  a  scuffle  and  shouts  from 
several  of  the  men.  1  understood  it  at  once,  and  sprang 
to  the  door  of  the  tent.  There  were  six  inches  of  snow 
on  every  thing.  Whitely  and  Moreright  were  already 
looking  out.  Hajji  Mohammed  awoke  early  and,  with 
his  eyes  half  open,  lifted  his  tent  door-curtain,  and  saw 
the  wolf  waiting  for  him.  His  shout  was  what  I  heard 
first.  Ferrajj  was  roused  by  it  and  looked  out,  and  Abd- 
el-Atti,  and  Selim,  and  Betuni,  with  the  other  men,  came 
around  to  see  the  fun.  For  the  cook  had  seized  a  knife, 
and,  thinking  it  was  for  life  or  death,  threw  himself  on 
the  enemy,  utterly  heedless  of  the  snow  which  lay  on  him 
and  showed  that  he  was  cold  and  dead.  The  others 


416  DISSIPATION! 

shouted,  and  when  I  looked  out  there  was  a  confused 
heap  of  turbans,  loose  pantaloons,  cook,  and  wolf  in  the 
snow.  I  didn’t  think  there  was  so  much  pluck  in  the 
Egyptian.  At  length  they  pulled  him  off,  and  I  found 
that  my  joke  had  spoiled  the  skin  of  the  animal,  for  the 
cook’s  knife  had  slashed  it  terribly. 

But  our  position  was  decidedly  cool.  It  was  snowing 
fast,  faster  and  faster — by  nine  o’clock  we  had  a  foot  of 
it  over  tents  and  baggage.  To  go  on  was  out  of  the 
question,  since  the  mules  could  not  carry  wet  tents,  nor, 
indeed,  travel  safely  in  the  snow.  We  accordingly  made 
ourselves  comfortable  in  the  tents.  We  built  an  extem¬ 
poraneous  furnace  of  stone  and  mud,  and  kept  a  bright 
fire  going  all  day,  while  the  snow  fell  fast  and  furious. 

It  was  a  strange  scene,  as  one  may  well  imagine,  and  a 
happy  one  withal,  as  the  day  wore  on.  We  had  books, 
but  what  were  books  when  three  American  gentlemen 
and  one  lady  were  snow-bound  on  the  side  of  Mount 
Hermon  ?  There  was  one  bottle  of  Marsala,  lately  dis¬ 
covered  in  the  canteen,  kept  for  a  special  occasion,  and 
wasn’t  this  just  that  occasion?  There  was  a  plenty  of 
the  Galilean  wine  of  Tiberias,  and  didn’t  we  mull  it  and 
make  glorious  mixtures,  wherewith  Whitely  drank  to  the 
bright  eyes  of  Sarai  of  Tiberias  ?  There  was,  by  some 
curious  accident,  a  drop  of  brandy  left  in  my  large  flask 
in  the  luncheon  bag,  and,  with  a  lemon  and  some  sugar, 
didn’t  we  have  a  hot  mixture,  that  took  off  the  chill  of 
the  dews  of  Hermon  ?  and,  while  this  was  going  on,  didn’t 
we  send  Ferrajj  into  the  village  for  all  the  milk  and  eggs 
and  salt  he  could  find,  and  therewith  prepare  a  custard, 
to  be  frozen  with  snow  and  salt  into  an  ice  cream,  to  cool 
off  the  heat  of  the  mixture  ?  and  didn’t  Miriam  set  the 
custard  out  in  the  snow  to  cool  ?  and  didn’t  Ferrajj  come 
in  with  the  empty  dish,  a  while  after,  and  say,  “  Mum, 
the  dogs,  mum,”  whereat  w~e  all  shouted  with  laughter 


I 


HIRING  A  HOUSE. 


417 


.  except  only  Miriam,  whose  face  was  terrible  to  the  dogs 
of  Beit  Jin,  and  did  we  not  tell  old  and  pleasant  stories 
and  sing  old  and  pleasant  songs,  and  dine  sumptuously  in 
the  evening,  and  sleep  right  gloriously  under  the  fast¬ 
falling  snow  ?  Yea,  all  this  we  did,  and,  in  the  morning, 
the  white  snow  lay  deep  on  tent,  and  valley,  and  hill,  and 
fell  yet  faster  than  before.  But  it  was  warmer  than  the 
first  day,  and  the  snow  began  to  melt  on  the  tents.  This 
Avould  soon  soak  them  and  make  them  too  heavy  for  the 
mules,  and  we  accordingly  decided  to  hire  a  house  in 
Beit  Jin  “for  the  winter.” 

It  was  difficult  to  procure  one,  but  at  length  Abd-el- 
Atti  found  a  Moslem  family  that  were  willing,  “  for  a  con¬ 
sideration,”  to  let  their  house  to  Christians,  and  clearing 
them  out,  bag  and  baggage,  we  moved  in. 

The  house  was  a  specimen  of  the  village  architecture 
of  Lebanon.  All  the  houses  are  alike.  Stone  walls, 
plastered  within  and  without  with  mud ;  a  roof  made  by 
laying  long  poplar-trees  across  from  wall  to  Avail,  piling 
brush  on  these,  and  covering  the  brush  with  mud  and 
graArel,  Avhich  is  rolled  hard  with  a  stone  roller,  an  in¬ 
strument  that  is  seen  on  every  house-top,  and  usually 
made  of  the  broken  column  of  an  ancient  building. 

There  Avas  but  one  room  in  the  house :  of  this  the  floor 
and  sides  were  plastered  smooth,  hard,  and  clean,  with 
good  lime  plaster.  There  Avere  no  Avindows.  The  cor¬ 
ner  of  the  room  was  a  chimney  ;  four  feet  from  the  floor, 
there  Avas  a  sort  of  Avail  built  across  the  corner,  very 
neatly  and  curiously  ornamented,  by  tAvisting  tAA’igs  and 
covering  them  with  plaster.  It  looked  like  a  huge  con¬ 
fectionary  ornament.  But  under  this  Ave  kept  a  blazing 
fire  all  day,  and  lived  as  Ave  had  lived  the  day  before 
in  the  tents,  barring  the  Marsala  and  .the  eau  de  vie, 
which  Ave  had  exhausted. 

Blessings  on  the  man  Avho  inArented  smoking  tobacco, 

18* 


( 


418 


IN  PRAISE  OF  TOBACCO. 


Who  he  was  remains  to  be  seen,  and  I  have  had  numerous 
discussions  in  the  Easton  the  question,  whether  the  Turks 
learned  to  smoke  from  the  North  American  Indians, 
by  way  of  Spain  and  the  Mediterranean  countries,  or 
whether  it  is  an  older  custom  with  them.  I  suppose  they 
must  have  learned  it  from  the  Europeans,  or  otherwise 
the  Spaniards  and  Englishmen  would  not  have  been  so 
astonished  as  they  are  represented  to  have  been  at  the 
first  sight  of  a  cigar. 

But,  blessings  on  the  first  smoker.  If  he  were  a  North 
American,  and  I  could  find  his  grave,  I  would  erect  a 
monument  over  him,  “  regali  situ  pyramidum  altius,”  and 
inscribe  it  with  a  grateful  legend. 

You  may  prate  if  you  will  of  the  vile  weed  and  un¬ 
cleanly  habit,  you  who  prefer  to  breathe  into  your  lungs 
the  foul  breath  of  every  feverish  throat,  rather  than  the 
same  purified  by  fragrant  smoke  ;  you  may  abuse  the 
luxury,  who  know  nothing  of  the  delicate  and  delicious 
kief,  that  indescribable  calm,  that  perfect  content  and 
comfort  that  the  chibouk  inspires.  I  laugh  to  hear  men 
talk  against  tobacco.  They  might  as  well  preach  to  me 
not  to  love  the  odor  of  roses  or  the  fragrant  mignionette, 
as  not  to  grow  quiet  on  the  perfume  of  Tombak,  or 
sleepily  happy  on  glorious  Latakea. 

Our  room  was  twenty  feet  square,  and  the  ceiling  eight 
feet  high.  This  was  the  whole  house.  W e  brought  our 
Persian  carpets  and  Nubian  mats,  our  beds  and  bedding, 
camp-stools,  table,  and  table  furniture,  and  stretching  one 
of  the  tent-cloths  across  the  room  divided  it,  so  that 
Miriam  had  her  part  separate. 

In  the  evening  we  had  a  pleasant  incident  that  is  worth 
recording.  We  had  supposed  that  none  but  Mussulmans 
were  in  the  village.  As  we  sat  talking,  a  boy  was  ushered 
in,  who  wished  to  see  the  Howajjis.  He  was  a  young 
Arab,  about  twelve  years  old,  and  had  in  his  hand  an  old 


A  PLEASANT  INCIDENT. 


419 


and  badly-worn  book,  without  beginning  or  ending.  He 
wanted  to  know  if  we  had  any  more  of  it  for  him.  It 
was  a  puzzling  question.  On  examination  we  found  that 
his  book  was  an  Arabic  copy  of  the  Psalms  of  David,  and 
the  boy  was  a  Christian.  He  said  he  had  a  father  and 
brother  in  the  village,  and  they  were  the  only  Christians 
here.  He  wanted  a  Bible  ;  he  had  no  book  but  this,  and 
he  knew  there  was  more  of  it — or  if  not,  there  must  be 
more  books  like  it — and  he  begged  hard  for  one.  We 
sent  him  for  his  father  and  brother,  and  they  came,  and 
we  made  the  boys  read  aloud,  which  they  did,  in  country- 
school  fashion  at  home,  with  voices  pitched  high,  and 
loud  intonation.  I  never  regretted  any  thing  more  than 
I  did  our  not  having  what  he  wanted ;  but  Moreright 
promised  him  a  Bible,  and  sent  it  afterward  from  Damas¬ 
cus.  This  family  were  Maronites. 

That  night  was  superb.  Standing  in  front  of  the  door 
of  our  house  (our  house !)  on  the  hill-side,  and  looking 
down  the  ravine,  the  blue  sky  contrasting  with  the  moon¬ 
lit  snow,  and  the  high  black  rocks,  the  strange  village, 
the  gaping  tombs  in  the  front  of  the  opposite  bluff,  I  felt 
an  exultation  in  the  splendor  of  the  scene,  which  I  can 
not  hope  to  make  my  reader  a  partaker  of.  As  I  stood, 
looking  eastward,  a  grand  meteor  went  flashing  down  the 
eastern  sky,  right  down  the  ravine,  whither  our  path  led 
toward  Damascus,  and  with  this  omen  of  good  before 
me,  I  slept  that  night  right  peacefully. 


£  d  e  ij  3  S q it g M t>  1*  of  £ b e.. 


Every  one  has  heard  of  Mohammed’s  refusal  to  enter 
Damascus,  lest  the  enjoyment  of  one  paradise,  the  full 
privilege  of  any  man  here  on  the  earth,  should  bar  him 
from  the  eternal  paradise  of  God.  The  valley  long  ago 
was  called  Beit  Eden ,  the  abode  of  Eden. 

The  beautiful  appearance  of  the  city  and  the  plain  is 
vastly  enhanced  by  the  wild,  mountainous,  or  desert 
country  through  which  the  traveler  has  passed  to  reach  it. 

The  streams  of  the  Sebarini,  and  other  fountains,  form¬ 
ing  the  Awaj  on  the  south,  and  the  great  stream  of  the 
Barrada  on  the  north,  come  down  out  of  the  Anti-Leb¬ 
anon  range,  and  emerge  on  a  vast  plain,  which  is  nearly 
a  water-level  for  twenty  miles  by  six.  The  outer  and 
more  remote  parts  of  this  are  grain  fields,  watered  by 
artificial  canals  from  these  two  rivers.  In  the  centre  of 
the  plain  is  a  vast,  dense  grove  of  trees,  of  every  va¬ 
riety  of  fruit  and  appearance.  Rising  among  these  are  the 
towers  and  the  minarets  of  Es  Shem,  the  city  of  Eleazar 
servant  of  Abraham,  the  old  Damascus. 

We  left  Beit  Jin  at  nine  in  the  morning.  The  snow 
was  fast  disappearing ;  and  as  we  descended  toward  the 
plain,  we  found  that  there  had  been  none.  At  twelve,  we 
passed  Kafr  Howaran,  “  a  village  of  the  Howaran,”  or, 
otherwise,  “  a  village  of  Houries but,  as  we  were  in  the 


I 


DAMASCUS. 


421 


/ 


district  called  Howaran,  and  did  not  see  any  houries,  I 
take  it  the  first  is  the  more  likely  interpretation.  There 
is  a  fine  ruin  in  the  village,  which  I  glanced  at,  but  did 
not  pause  to  examine.  I  believe  that  this  is  the  traditional 
tomb  of  Nimrod,  but  in  this  I  may  be  in  error.  At  two, 
as  we  were  crossing  a  high  ridge  of  the  rolling  land  which 
connects  the  side  of  Mount  Hermon  with  the  valley  of 
Damascus,  we  caught  a  distant  but  fine  view  of  the  city, 
and  hoped  to  reach  it  by  night ;  but  evening  overtook  us 
at  Artous  on  the  plain,  and  we  encamped  here.  Next 
morning  we  rode  on  over  the  plain ;  interested  in  observ¬ 
ing  men  opening  the  canals,  and  turning  on  water  by 
hour-glasses,  and  at  length  coming  between  fences  built 
of  mud,  by  a  process  of  boxing  up  mud  in  the  shape  of 
giant  bricks,  four  feet  by  three  by  one,  and  letting  them 
dry  in  position,  and  among  groves  of  apricot,  and  walnut, 
and  almond-trees,  now  in  fragrant  bloom,  and  at  length 
to  the  gate  of  the  city  that  is  called  the  heart  of  the 
Orient. 

Through  long  winding  streets,  densely  crowded  bazaars, 
by  the  open  doors  of  steaming  baths  and  dirty  coffee, 
houses,  we  passed  to  the  house  of  one  Germanus,  kept  as 
a  hotel,  where  we  were  to  lodge.  He  showed  us  through 
a  court-yard,  with  a  fountain  in  the  centre,  and  orange 
and  lemon-trees,  loaded  with  fruit,  around  it,  into  a  large 
room,  of  which  the  central  part  was  on  a  level  with  the 
court.  One  side  of  it  was  an  alcove,  raised  by  two  steps, 
on  which  were  diwans.  The  other  two  sides  were  also 
alcoves,  in  each  of  which  was  a  bed.  The  ceiling  was 
thirty  feet  high,  gilded,  and  ornamented  with  arabesque 
patterns,  and  in  the  centre  of  the  room  was  a  bubbling 
fountain. 

Fountains  are  the  enemies  of  the  visitor  in  Damascus. 
Wherever  he  goes  he  meets  with  dashing  water,  and  it  is 
hard  work  to  prevent  his  being  put  in  a  room  with  a  bub- 


422 


MOSK  OF  YEYE. 


bling,  gurgling  fountain,  to  keep  him  awake  all  night,  and 
give  him  a  rheumatism  in  the  morning,  if  he  be  inclined 
to  such  out-of-joint  complaints. 

"VYe  rejected  the  room  instanter,  preferring  one  which 
was  only  twenty  feet  square,  with  a  ceiling  thirty  feet 
high,  and  looking  much  more  cozy  and  comfortable. 
Having  made  ourselves  at  home,  shaken  out  the  bends  iii 
our  knees,  which  long  riding  on  horseback  had  nearly 
confirmed,  and  gotten  out  some  respectable  dress,  by  way 
of  contrast  with  our  late  travel-stained  garments,  we  flat¬ 
tered  ourselves  that  we  did  not  look  much  like  inhabitants 
of  Beit  Jin  on  the  side  of  Mount  Hermon. 

There  is  little  of  antiquity  in  Damascus  to  interest  the 
traveler.  The  mosk  of  Yeye,  which  is  the  Mohammedan 
style  of  pronouncing  the  name  of  John,  or,  rather,  the 
Mohammedan  name  of  John  the  Baptist  and  all  ancient 
Johns,  is  an  immense  building,  which  was  once  a  Christ¬ 
ian  church.  It  was  probably  built  in  the  time  of  Justin¬ 
ian,  and  originally  dedicated  to  the  Baptist.  When  the 
Moslems  became  masters  of  the  city,  it  was  at  first 
divided  between  Christians  and  Moslems,  but  at  length 
converted — in  the  Moslem  style  of  conversion,  by  steel 
and  fire — into  a  mosk,  still  dedicated  to  John,  whose 
head  is  said  to  be  in  some  part  of  it.  Entrance  to  it 
is  forbidden  to  Christians ;  a  prohibition  amounting  to 
nothing,  since  there  is  little  object  in  going  further  than 
the  doorway,  whence  we  could  look  into  the  great  court, 
surrounded  by  columns,  and  paved  with  stones  worn  to 
glassy  smoothness  by  the  knees  and  the  bare  feet  of  the 
worshipers. 

Hear  the  mosk,  spanning  the  street  which  leads  to  its 
principal  entrance,  and  on  the  line  of  a  cross  street,  both 
of  which  are  roofed  over  in  the  style  of  eastern  bazaars, 
are  the  remains  of  a  grand  pediment,  supported  on  four 
massive  columns,  which  once  doubtless  belonged  to  a 


i 


AROUND  DAMASCUS. 


423 


temple.  The  space  between  the  two  middle  columns  is 
much  greater  than  between  the  others.  The  columns 
are  visible  in  the  streets  below,  one  of  which  passes  be¬ 
tween  the  middle  pillars,  but  we  had  to  enter  a  door  and 
climb  a  narrow  dark  stairway  to  the  roofs  of  the  houses, 
over  which  we  made  our  way  some  distance  to  the  upper 
part  of  the  pediment,  being  then  on  a  level  with  the  cap¬ 
itals  of  the  columns.  The  architecture  is  of  the  florid 
Corinthian,  abounding  in  the  ruins  of  northern  Syria. 
The  pediment  was  broken  by  a  great  arch  springing  from 
the  second  to  the  third  column,  suggesting  the  idea  that 
it  may  have  been  a  triumphal  arch,  but  this  is  an  unusual 
shape  for  such  a  structure. 

The  remains  are  imposing.  Their  solitary  appearance, 
towering  above  the  roofs  of  Damascus  in  lonesome 
grandeur,  is  very  impressive. 

We  rode  out  of  the  city  one  day  to  make  a  complete 
circuit  of  it,  taking  as  our  guide  Ibrahim,  an  old  Jew, 
who  made  his  home  in  Germanus’s  hotel,  and  who  is  a 
character  well  known  to  travelers  who  have  visited  the 
city. 

Mounted  on  the  white  horse  of  Ferrajj,  he  rode  in  ad¬ 
vance  of  us,  first  down  the  “  strait  street,”  on  which  stood 
the  house  of  Judas,  with  whom  Paul  lodged,  and  then 
out  of  the  Pilgrim’s  gate.  We  rode  a  little  way  under 
the  wall  of  the  city,  glancing  up  at  the  spot  where  tradi¬ 
tion  said  that  Paul  was  let  down  when  he  escaped,  and 
then  turning  to  the  south,  we  went  out  to  the  outer  city 
wall  of  the  Protestant  cemetery,  which  lies  a  half  a  mile 
or  so  from  the  city,  and  near  the  spot  pointed  out  as  the 
scene  of  the  conversion  of  Saul.  Looking  at  the  latter, 
which  is  marked  by  a  sort  of  arch  or  grotto  open  on  each 
side,  dug  through  a  conglomerate  that  seems  much  more 
like  gravel  than  like  rock,  and  which  has  stood  in  this  posi¬ 
tion  for  some  hundred  years,  appearing  all  the  time  as  if 


424 


HEART  OF  ORIENT. 


it  were  dug  yesterday  and  would  fall  to-morrow,  we  rode 
on  to  the  east  among  the  gardens  and  groves  that  sur¬ 
round  the  city.  It  was  a  wilderness  of  beauty.  Corn- 
ins'  as  w~e  did  from  months  of  travel  in  the  desolate  land 
of  Canaan,  where  a  dry,  cold  olive  grove  was  a  delight  to 
the  eyes,  and  where  fruit-trees  and  blossoms  were  as  rare 
as  angels’  visits  in  these  modern  days,  we  were  in  an 
ecstasy  of  admiration  at  every  thing.  The  air  was  loaded 
with  perfume.  The  groves  in  which  the  apricot  abounded 
were  gay  with  blushing  blossoms.  The  whole  scene  was 
one  of  fairy  land,  bowers  for  princesses  and  gardens  of 
delight  for  kings.  ¥ow  we  began  to  realize  some  of  the 
stories  of  Arabian  Nights,  and  appreciate  the  descriptions 
of  oriental  gardens. 

But  still  the  city  itself,  Damascus  within  the  walls,  was 
not  as  “  oriental”  as  Cairo.  Cairo  is  the  perfection  of  the 
East,  and  he  who  has  seen  it  will  see  here  nothing  in  ex¬ 
ternal  appearance  so  answering  his  expectations  of  the 
Orient.  Nowhere  else  will  he  find  those  dark,  narrow 
streets,  with  lofty  houses,  and  interlacing  windows,  nor 
those  exquisite  lattices  of  strange  and  elaborate  patterns, 
every  one  of  which  was  a  day’s  study.  But  within  the 
houses  themselves,  and  outside  the  walls  of  the  city, 
Damascus  is  magnificence. 

Returning  from  a  three  hours’  ride  on  the  north  side  of 
the  city — we  had  gone  around  the  eastern  end,  crossing 
the  Barada  as  it  flows  out  of  the  city — we  found  ourselves 
at  the  gate  of  a  private  place,  concealed  from  the  road  by 
a  high  stone  wall,  but  commanding  a  view  of  it  from  its 
overhanging  windows  that  projected  above  the  street. 

The  story  which  I  am  about  to  relate,  and  which  came 
to  my  knowledge  behind  the  wall,  within  this  inclosure,  is 
no  fiction.  There  are  realities  that  surpass  romance.  If 
you  wish  a  history  of  passion,  the  story  of  a  wild  and  reck¬ 
less  life,  the  life  of  one,  young,  beloved,  beautiful,  and  no- 


A  TALE  OF  PASSION. 


425 


ble,  sacrificed  to  the  mad  passion  of  a  woman’s  love,  a 
story  of  western  life  surpassing  the  tales  of  the  Orient, 
one  of  this  year  in  which  I  live  and  write,  surpassing 
those  of  the  days  of  Haroun-el-Raschid,  all  that  is  here. 

It  was  a  strange  place  to  hear  the  story,  but  I  heard  it 

(even  there. 

Among  the  fair  ladies  in  the  court  of  St.  James,  there 
were  none  more  fair  and  beautiful  than  Ianthe,  daughter 
of  a  line  that  was  ancient  and  noble  in  the  days  of  the 
first  Charles,  and  that  has,  in  all  times,  claimed  rank  in 
England  second  only  to  the  blood  royal. 

I  do  not  testify  from  hearsay  when  I  say  that  she  was 
beautiful,  for  I  have  seen  her  on  her  white  Arabian  of 
the  Khamsa,  stately  in  the  decay  of  splendid  beauty, 
splendid  yet,  and  I  have  seen  her  picture,  by  an  artist  of 
no  small  renown,  taken  when  she  was  eighteen,  and 
the  bride  of  one  of  the  proudest  lords  in  England.  Her 
face  was  one  of  gentle  and  exquisite  beauty.  I  could  not 
believe  it  possible  that  one  so  beautiful  could  sin  so 
deeply  and  have  so  dark  a  fall,  nor  did  I  realize  it  but  by 
my  old  resort  in  remembering  that  the  star  of  the  morn¬ 
ing,  on  the  right  hand  of  God,  fell,  and  I  could  not  ex¬ 
pect  that  she  would  be  more  proud  of  her  lineage  than 
Lucifer  of  his  throne. 

The  story  of  her  love  and  marriage  is  not  for  these 
pages  or  these  years.  There  are  hearts  in  old  England 
that  cling  to  her  yet,  despite  her  wild  career,  and  the  tale 
would  shock  them  were  it  printed  as  I  have  heard  it. 
Nor  would  I  tell  the  tale  at  all  but  that  I  have  seen  it 
printed  in  an  English  volume,  and  in  the  English  papers 
from  time  to  time,  until  she  has  become  public  property 
in  every  sense  of  the  word,  and  I  can  not,  therefore,  see 
any  reason  for  suppressing  it. 

She  married  the  man  she  did  not  love.  His  name 
is  known  to  the  world.  He  is  a  peer  of  distinction, 


426 


THE  OLD  STORY. 


second  only,  I  believe,  of  the  line,  but  bearing  a  name 
that  he  has  made  distinguished  on  both  sides  of  the 
world. 

I  shudder  when  I  compare  the  present  with  the  past. 
She  was  very  young,  and  very  gentle,  and  very  beauti¬ 
ful.  Let  us  not  discuss  the  long-ago  discussed  question, 
whether  such  marriages  do  not  charge  on  their  origin¬ 
ators  the  sins  that  follow  them.  She  whose  wealth  was 
untold,  whose  presence  in  lordly  mansions  was  a  joy, 
whose  face  was  a  light  even  in  the  blaze  of  London 
beauty,  whose  home  was  the  abode  of  splendor,  luxury, 
and  magnificence,  had  yet  a  woman’s  heart  and  a  woman’s 
love — and,  woman-like,  was  betrayed  and  abandoned. 

It  was  the  old  story,  the  old  and  horrible  story.  She 
sacrificed  all  for  him,  her  first  love,  a  German  baron,  and 
as  very  a  hound  as  ever  missed  his  proper  place,  and  was 
born  into  life  a  man. 

So  soon  as  the  House  of  Lords  had  granted  the  divorce 
which  her  husband  applied  for,  she  went  to  Italy  and  met 
this  German  dog.  He  made  her  the  toy  of  an  hour,  and 
then  abandoned  her  forever.  But  the  change  had  come 
over  her  that  comes  so  often  over  the  wronged  woman. 
She  was  a  child  no  longer,  and  she  who  had  been  the  de¬ 
light  of  royal  assemblies,  the  gentle  girl  of  Cumberland, 
the  young  and  radiant  bride  of  the  brilliant  court  of  St. 
James,  worshiped  as  a  star,  beautiful,  but  unapproach¬ 
able,  glorious,  but  distant,  warm,  loving,  maddening  in 
her  radiance,  but  yet  a  pure  star  of  those  azure  distances, 
she  became  the  wild  devotee  of  passion,  the  priestess  of 
pleasure,  a  beautiful,  magnificently  beautiful,  Bacchante. 
There  were  no  limits  to  the  extravagance  and  reckless¬ 
ness  of  her  life.  Possessed,  by  the  terms  of  the  divorce, 
of  an  income  sufficient  to  maintain  a  style  of  living  equal 
to  her  tastes,  she  was  the  leader  of  that  large  class  which 
is  found  in  Italy,  made  up  of  the  victims  of  modern 


HER  FALL. 


427 


society  and  of  their  own  sins,  in  which  beautiful  women 
find  no  difficulty  in  surrounding  themselves  with  circles 
of  brilliant  wit,  and  all  the  accomplishments  that  make 
the  passing  life  one  of  gayety  and  pleasure.  Her  de¬ 
votion  to  a  gay  life  was  complete  and  absolute.  The 
star  that  had  been  as  pure  as  Merope  before  her  fall,  be¬ 
came  a  mortal  form,  beautiful,  but  polluted,  moulded 
after  the  divinity  of  Eve,  but  free  to  the  embraces  of  all 
her  sons. 

Let  us  pass  over  years  whose  history  is  reserved  for  the 
blackness  of  darkness. 

There  was  in  the  service  of  king  Otho  of  Greece  a 
certain  Count,  who  was  noto  verstocked  with  money. 
There  were  also  at  Athens  two  ladies  who  led  easy  lives ; 

one,  the  celebrated  Duchess  de  P - ,  and  the  other  the 

English  countess  now  bearing  the  name  of  a  husband  to 
whom  she  had  been  married  in  Italy,  but  whom  she  had 
abandoned.  The  count  proposed  to  marry  her,  and  she 
assented,  and  became  his  wife.  But  the  queen  was  scan¬ 
dalized  at  the  connection,  and  gave  the  count  notice  to 
quit  her  service  or  discharge  his  wife.  He  thought  it 
hard,  for  with  the  wife  he  had  married  an  income  of 
over  seven  thousand  dollars  a-year,  which  was  a  princely 
fortune  there  ;  but  the  queen  was  inexorable.  Thinking 
that  the  office  and  position  at  court  were  a  permanency, 
and  the  wife  quite  the  contrary,  especially  judging  from 
the  past,  he  obeyed  the  royal  mandate  and  moved  out  of 
his  lady’s  establishment. 

It  is  charitable  to  suppose  that  at  this  time  the  mind  of 
the  beautiful  lady  had  become  shattered.  Yet  there  are 
those  who  knew  her  best  who  deny  it,  and  assert  that 
she  remains  sane,  but  that  her  wild  propensities  are  the 
result  of  her  early  life,  and  first  great  trial.  It  was 
enough  to  madden  any  woman  :  and  one  so  young,  and 
one  so  worshiped,  might  well  grow  mad  to  find  herself  a 


428 


THE  COUNTESS  I  A  N  T  H  E  t 


wanderer.  Had  there  been  then  one  to  take  her  hand 
and  hold  her  back  from  perdition !  But  there  wras 
none. 

Why  or  how  she  went  from  Greece  I  do  not  know, 
but  she  was  next  heard  of  in  Damascus ;  and  there  the 
romance  of  her  life  ceased,  or  dwindled  down  to  the 
ridiculous.  It  sounds  well  in  England,  indeed  ,  and  if  it  is 
wicked,  it  has,  nevertheless,  a  tone  of  adventurous  life  to 

hear  that  Ianthe,  Countess  of - ,  has  married  a  sheik 

of  the  Anazees,  and  lives  in  a  tent  on  the  plains  of  Pal¬ 
myra,  among  the  ruins  of  Tadmor  in  the  wilderness. 

But  alas  for  the  truth  of  the  story !  Going  down 
to  Palmyra  from  Damascus  she  was  attacked  by  Be¬ 
douins.  Her  guard  was  a  small  party  of  Anazees,  under 
one  Medjuel,  an  inferior  sheik,  if  sheik  at  all,  a  miser¬ 
able,  dirty  little  Bedouin,  whom  one  would  kick  out 
of  his  way,  and  who,  if  once  caught  on  the  mountains  of 
Lebanon  by  the  Druses,  will  have  a  bullet  through  his 
head  in  a  twinkling,  and  die  unknown,  and  rot  unburied. 
According  to  the  lady,  he  performed  prodigies  of  valor 
in  her  defence,  and  brought  her  safely  back  to  Damascus. 

Here  is  what  she  says  of  it.  I  copy  exactly  from  the 
register  of  Germanus’s  hotel,  in  Damascus  : 

“  J’ai  passe  dix  jours  dans  cet  hotel,  pendant  lesquels  j’ai  ete  parfaite- 
ment  satisfaite  des  bons  soins  du  maitre.  Je  prends  aussi  cette  occasion 
de  recommander  le  Scheik  Medjuel  chef  des  Anazzes  a  tout  voyageur  quo 
desire  entreprendre  le  voyage  de  Palmyre  l’ayant  trouve  parfaitement 
capable  et  digne  de  confiance  sous  tous  les  rapports. 

“  COMTESSE  - . 

“  Damasce,  13  Juin,  ’53.” 

The  name  after  Comtesse  had  been  something  like  Peri- 
toki,  which  was  her  name  in  Greece ;  but  it  was  erased 
and  written  over  with  another  name,  by  her  own  hand, 
at  a  later  date,  and  this  was  so  blotted  as  to  be  illegible. 

The  countess  had  a  way  of  marrying.  She  had  gotten 


MARRIAGE  TO  A  BEDOUIN. 


429 


into  it  by  a  sort  of  habit,  and  could  not  keep  out  of  it. 
She  astonished  Medjuel  one  day  at  the  hotel  in  Damascus, 
after  her  safe  return  from  Palmyra,  by  telling  him  that 
she  intended  to  marry  him.  He  was  so  frightened  at  the 
idea  that  he  vanished,  and  was  seen  no  more.  She  hired 
certain  of  his  tribe  to  bring  him  back,  who  found  him  at 
Palmyra,  and  persuaded  him  to  return.  She  renewed 
the  proposition,  and  at  length  obtained  his  consent  by 
showing  him  the  wealth  she  was  able  to  bring  him. 

The  English  consul  interfered  to  prevent  such  a  dis¬ 
graceful  occurrence,  but  she  laughed  at  him.  The  resi¬ 
dent  Turkish  governor  was  induced  to  take  it  in  hand, 
and  sending  for  Medjuel,  told  him  that  the  woman  had 
several  husbands  living  already,  and  warned  him  of  his 
intended  interference  with  their  rights,  and  of  the  duty 
he  should  feel  to  allow  their  claims  if  any  of  them  came 
after  her.  Medjuel  was  again  scared,  and  again  disap- 
peared.  She  sent  for  him,  but  in  vain,  and  at  length  she 
went  after  him  herself.  She  found  him  on  the  desert 
near  Palmyra,  and  was  there  married. to  him  by  the  Be¬ 
douin  ceremony,  without  other  witnesses  than  his  Arab 
companions. 

!She  then  purchased,  in  his  name,  a  fine  house  and  gar¬ 
dens  outside  the  Avails  of  Damascus,  and  made  it  her 
home,  being  there  part  of  the  time,  and  in  his  tent  the 
rest  of  it. 

It  was  at  the  door  of  this  villa  that  Ave  now  paused  for 
a  moment,  not  hoping  to  obtain  admittance  ;  but  having 
knocked,  Ave  Avere  not  a  little  gratified  at  the  sight  of  a 
European  face  within  the  doorway.  A  French  maid,  the 
companion  of  all  the  lady’s  wanderings,  was  in  charge  of 
the  house.  Her  mistress  Avas  absent  at  Palmyra.  She 
very  politely  invited  us  to  enter,  and  showed  us  the 
establishment. 

It  would  be  tedious  to  mention  all  the  adornments  of 


430 


HER  BOUDOIR. 


the  rooms  and  grounds,  but  there  were  two  in  which  we 
lingered  with  more  interest  than  elsewhere.  I  think  I 
may  escape  the  censure  of  one  who  interferes  with  the 
privacies  of  domestic  life  in  describing  these  rooms,  since 
the  life  of  this  lady  has  already  been  made  quite  as  much 
a  matter  of  public  notoriety  as  that  of  Lady  Hester  Stan¬ 
hope,  whom  I  think  she,  in  some  respects,  desires  to  imitate. 

They  opened  on  each  side  of  an  open  alcove.  The  one 
was  her  bed-room,  the  other  her  boudoir.  The  former 
was  furnished  in  gorgeous  style.  The  hangings  were  of 
the  heaviest  damask,  the  floor  carpeted  with  the  most 
costly  fabrics  of  Persian  looms.  It  was  a  reminiscence  of 
her  early  life  that  she  had  revived  in  Damascus,  by  im¬ 
porting  from  France  this  costly  furniture,  which  I  have 
never  seen  surpassed  in  the  bed-chambers  of  royalty  in 
European  palaces. 

But  there  were  reminiscences  of  her  girlhood  in  the 
boudoir  that  must  sometimes  have  thrilled  her  now  cold 
heart.  There  was  a  portrait  of  her  father,  a  brave  and 
gallant  servant  of  the  king,  wearing  the  uniform  of  his 
high  rank,  and  looking  kindly  on  the  strange  scene. 
There  was  a  portrait  of  herself,  in  a  gorgeous  frame  of 
purple  velvet  and  gold,  and  there  she  could  see  what  she 
once  was  when  worshiped  as  the  star  of  St.  James. 

There  was  a  picture,  containing  portraits  of  two  chil¬ 
dren,  long  since  dead,  her  children,  the  children  of  her 
brief  honored  married  life — one  of  whom,  I  have  heard, 
lived  to  be  the  affianced  wife  of  a  royal  prince,  who  died 
before  the  marriage,  but  I  do  not  know  if  this  be  true. 
In  the  corner  there  were  books,  some  of  which  were  the 
familiar  books  of  Christian  children,  “  Daily  Food,”  and 
similar  collections,  and  one,  “Marriage  au  point  de  vue 
Chretien”  (!)  and  Lynch’s  “Dead  Sea  Expedition,”  and 
Robinson’s  “  Biblical  Researches,”  and  many  others  that 
I  recognized. 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  EVE. 


431 


On  the  table  lay  several  magnificent  folios,  bound  in 
dark  morocco,  and  on  the  side  of  each  was  a  coronet  of 
gold,  with  the  simple  name,  “  Ianthe.”  They  were  filled 
with  oil  and  water-colored  drawings  of  her  own,  sketches 
of  home-scenes  in  old  England,  of  views  in  Switzerland 
and  elsewhere  in  her  wanderings. 

“  Madame  prends  toujours  son  diner  ici,”  said  the 
lady’s  maid. 

“  Avec  le  Sclieik  Medjuel?” 

“Certainement.” 

“Et  comment?” 

tc  Sur  le  tapis — comme-ga,”  and  she  sat  down  on  the 
carpet,  with  her  feet  out  of  sight,  and  showed  us  pre¬ 
cisely  how  the  countess  now  lives  and  how  she  eats — 
from  a  platter  on  the  floor,  Arab  fashion,  with  her  fingers, 
and  with  her  Arab  hound  of  a  husband  opposite  to  her. 

She  has  expended  large  sums  of  money  on  the  place,  all 
of  which,  of  course,  she  has  given  to  Medjuel. 

When  the  whim  changes  she  will  go.  He  contracted 
with  her  that  she  was  never  to  require  him  to  go  west  of 
Damascus  before  he  would  marry  her. 

Verily  there  be  daughters  of  Eve  in  Beit  Eden,  who, 
taking:  not  their  mother’s  lesson,  lose  themselves  for  trifles. 

O  7 


2S. 

&  f)  c  t|  $. 


One  morning,  as  Miriam,  Whitely,  and  I  were  strolling 
np  the  great  bazaars  of  Damascus,  looking  very  much  as 
verdant  people  look  who  visit  the  city  for  the  first  time, 
and  stare  into  shop-windows,  with  open  eyes  and  mouth 
— only  the  shop-windows  were  all  doors,  or,  rather,  the 
shops  were  nothing  but  windows,  immense  open  windows 
that  opened  into  little  closets  full  of  shelves,  each  with  a 
gray-bearded  Turk  sitting  in  solemn  silence  with  chibouk 
to  his  lips,  on  the  front  of  it,  as  we  were  thus  walking 
along,  intent  on  silks  and  shawls  of  all  rare  and  shining 
varieties,  we  were  surprised  by  an  address  in  English. 

“  Why  you  no  tell  me  you  no  want  my  house  ?” 

Looking  around,  I  recognized  a  young  Armenian  Christ¬ 
ian,  whom  I  had  seen  before. 

We  had  talked  of  taking  a  house  in  Damascus.  Why 
not  ?  We  had  done  so  in  Jerusalem  for  a  month,  and  in 
Beit  Jin  for  a  day,  and  why  not  in  Damascus  for  a  week? 
We  did  not  like  Germanus’s  arrangements.  We  found 
withal  that  we  could  not  make  a  purchase  in  Damascus, 
large  or  small,  without  Germanus  or  his  brother,  or  Ibra¬ 
him,  or  some  one  of  the  family  suddenly  appearing  at  the 
moment  the  sale  was  concluded,  and  in  time  to  ascertain 
how  much  we  paid  and  what  commission  he  should  col¬ 
lect.  For  Germanus  has  a  plan  that  hotel-keepers  may 


DAMASCUS  KHANS. 


do  well  to  profit  by,  of  charging  all  merchants  a  com¬ 
mission  on  all  goods  purchased  by  lodgers  at  his  house, 
whether  he  goes  with  them  to  the  shops  or  not. 

We  went  to  look  at  Meluk’s  house.  It  was  a  perfect  lit¬ 
tle  gem  in  its  way,  furnished  in  the  perfection  of  eastern 
splendor,  with  damask  diwans  and  Persian  carpets,  silver 
narghilehs  and  amber-mouthed  chibouks.  He  was  very 
polite  withal,  and  offered  us  the  house  freely,  but,  at  the 
same  time,  telling  us  that  there  were  reasons  why  he 
should  prefer  that  we  should  find  a  place  elsewhere,  the 
chief  of  which  was  a  ceremonial  observance  the  family  was 
then  engaged  in,  on  account  of  the  recent  death  of  his 
father. 

We  could  not  say  we  did  not  like  the  house,  and  left 
him  without  an  answer.  He  accosted  us  in  the  street, 
and  now,  for  the  first  time,  we  learned  that  he  was  the 
largest  silk  manufacturer  in  Damascus. 

He  took  us  into  his  room.  It  was  in  one  of  the  large 
khans  which  abound  here.  They  are  built  uniformly 
around  a  large  covered  court,  in  the  centre  of  which  is  a 
fountain.  In  this  court  camels  deposit  their  goods.  Two 
galleries  run  around  this,  from  which  small  store-rooms 
open.  He  showed  us  quantities  of  the  rich  and  exquisite 
goods  of  Damascus,  heavy  silken  scarfs  of  all  the  brilliant 
eastern  dyes,  wrought  with  gold  and  silver ;  there  were 
forty  different  patterns,  each  seeming  more  beautiful  than 
all  the  others,  rich  goods  for  dresses,  table-covers,  diwans 
and  cushions,  all  of  heavy  silk,  made  more  heavy  with 
gold.  There  was  a  blaze  of  splendor  that  surpassed  any 
thing  I  had  imagined.  Gay  and  gorgeous  as  are  the  silk 
departments  of  our  American  shops,  there  is  nothing  in 
Europe  or  America  to  compare  with  this  little  second-story 
dark  room  of  the  Damascus  khan. 

Germanus  kept  similar  goods  at  the  hotel,  but  asked 
higher  prices.  We  had  not  been  five  minutes  in  the 

19 


434 


DAMASCUS  HOUSES. 


room  of  Meluk,  when  old  Ibrahim  waddled  in,  to  see  that 
we  made  no  purchases  without  his  knowledge,  and,  at  my 
particular  request,  waddled  out  again,  with  a  message  to 
Germanus,  to  keep  him  at  home,  blacking  our  boots, 
and  not  send  him  after  us  except  wThen  we  told  him  to 
do  so. 

The  market  for  these  Damascus  goods  is  in  the  Turkish 
hareems.  Few  of  our  ladies  imagine  the  splendor  of  dress 
which  the  oriental  ladies  indulge  in.  Diamonds,  turquoise, 
pearls,  and  amber  are  as  common  in  the  hareem  of  a 
wealthy  pasha,  as  paint  in  the  dressing-room  of  a  ten 
years  old  belle,  and  the  ladies  tear  up  and  trample  on 
silks  that  a  Broadway  or  avenue  promenader  would  sell 
her  soul  to  possess. 

These  silks  have  never  been  seen  in  the  American  mar¬ 
ket,  and  the  fair  purchasers  of  such  articles  have  yet  to 
see  more  splendid  products  of  the  East  than  they  have 
hitherto  dreamed  of. 

A  subject  of  never-ending  wonderment  with  me  w'as 
the  origin  of  the  immense  wealth  of  Damascus.  For  im¬ 
mense  it  is.  There  are  hundreds  of  men  who  sit  all  day 
long  on  the  fronts  of  their  little  cupboard-shops  in  the  ba¬ 
zaars,  selling  five,  ten,  or  fifty  piastres’  worth  of  goods  in 
a  day,  who  live  in  palaces  that  surpass  the  most  costly 
American  houses,  and  reach  the  fabulous  splendor  of  the 
Arabian  Nights. 

Externally,  all  the  houses  of  Damascus  are  alike,  plas¬ 
tered  over  with  a  yellowish  stucco,  or  mud,  and  showing 
no  windows  on  the  street.  They  present,  therefore,  only 
dead  yellow  walls  on  both  sides  of  the  way  as  you  pass 
along.  The  doorway  of  carved  wood  is  of  more  or  less 
beauty.  This  opens  to  a  court,  paved  with  various-col¬ 
ored  marbles,  and  adorned  with  a  fountain,  over  which 
hang  oranges  and  other  fruits  in  luxuriant  beauty. 

The  house  of  a  wealthy  Jew  is  said  to  be  the  finest  in 


A  JEW’S  PALACE. 


435 


the  city.  I  was  in  it  one  morning.  It  is  built  on  the  gen¬ 
eral  Damascus  plan.  A  cross,  the  four  arms  of  which  are 
of  equal  length,  is  the  ground  plan  of  the  court.  The 
arms  of  the  cross  are  raised  a  foot  or  two  from  the  level 
of  the  court,  and  arched  over,  making  four  alcoves,  front¬ 
ing  on  the  central  fountain.  The  corners  are  then  built 
up  with  lofty  and  gorgeously  adorned  rooms.  This  house 
was  built  of  the  finest  Italian  marble,  brought  on  mules 
from  the  sea  coast. 

It  was  carved  in  all  manner  of  quaint  arabesque  pat¬ 
terns.  Clusters  of  golden  fruits  and  flowers  hung  from 
the  sides  of  the  rooms  and  the  ceilings.  The  doors  were 
finely  carved  and  gilded.  The  furniture  was  superb.  One 
of  the  alcoves  was  furnished  with  a  single  cliwan,  which 
cost  sixty-five  thousand  piastres — a  New  York  lady  might 
be  contented  with  a  sofa  worth  three  thousand  dollars, 
especially  if  it  were  as  this  was,  a  mere  cushion  of  silk 
and  gold,  without  any  wood  or  iron  about  it.  The  entire 
house  was  furnished  with  silver  articles — bowls,  pitchers, 
narghilehs,  perfume-bottles,  cups,  water-goblets,  and  every 
thing  that  could  be  made  of  this  metal. 

But,  by  way  of  illustration  of  oriental  manners  and 
customs,  I  may  add  that  the  lady  who  presided  in  this 
palace,  and  who,  being  a  Jewess,  had  no  scruples  about 
being  seen  by  strangers,  received  us  in  a  dress  of  calico, 
outrageously  dirty,  while  her  trowsers,  once  clean,  looked 
as  if  she  had  dragged  them  through  all  the  mud  of  Da¬ 
mascus,  and  her  hair  had  been  destitute  of  a  combing  for 
a  month.  Notwithstanding  this,  a  diamond,  worth  the 
price  of  a  German  principality,  shone  in  the  centre  of 
her  forehead,  and  another,  on  her  finger,  would  have 
bought  a  New  York  up-town  establishment,  ladies,  dresses, 
and  all. 

The  cost  of  building  this  house  in  Damascus  had  been 
fifteen  hundred  thousand  piastres  (about  seventy  thousand 


436 


THE  SEVEN  SLEEPERS. 


dollars)  at  the  time  of  our  visit,  and  was  yet  to  be  much 
more  before  it  should  be  completed. 

We  saw  several  other  Damascus  houses,  some  of  which 
had  inner  courts  and  fountains,  and  groves  of  orange  and 
lemon-trees,  among  which  the  ladies  of  the  hareem  rested 
in  the  long  sunny  days. 

I  can  not  linger  any  longer  in  Damascus.  I  can  not 
speak  of  the  baths  in  which  the  lazy  Turks  dreamed  away 
the  long  days,  nor  of  the  kiosks  on  the  banks  of  the 
Barada,  where  they  smoked  hashish,  and  forgot  the 
Prophet,  nor  of  the  vailed  ladies  that  jostled  against  you, 
as  you  walked  along  the  streets,  or  that  threw  up  their 
vails  when  they  met  the  Franks,  by  chance,  alone  in  a 
quiet  street,  and  let  the  full  lustre  of  their  fair  faces,  and 
large,  black  eyes,  flash  with  bewildering  splendor  on  him, 
nor  of  the  long  mornings  wasted  on  the  shop-fronts  of  a 
Turkish  vender  of  silks,  smoking  his  chibouk,  drinking 
his  coflee,  and  beating  down  his  prices,  nor  of  the  even¬ 
ings  in  the  house  of  Mohammed  Eflendi,  the  sword-mer¬ 
chant,  who  piled  his  floor  with  ancient  Damascus  blades, 
and  Cashmere  shawls  (known  to  western  purchasers  by 
the  very  curious  name  of  camel’s-hair),  old  china,  cufic 
dishes  of  metal,  rare  jewels,  coins,  and  ten  thousand  odd 
things  of  vertu,  nor  how  we  climbed  the  walls  of  the  old 
castle  that  forms  so  large  a  feature  in  the  view  of  Damas¬ 
cus,  and  thence  looked  over  the  valley,  and  up  at  the  hill 
of  the  Seven  Sleepers — I  say  I  can  not  pause  to  speak  of 
these. 

I  believe  that  the  story  of  the  Seven  Sleepers  is  of  Christ¬ 
ian  origin,  and  wras  first  related  of  certain  youths  of  Ephe¬ 
sus,  who  refused  to  abjure  their  religion  in  the  times  of 
the  Emperor  Decius.  But  Mohammed  (Koran,  chapter 
xviii.)  adopted  it,  and  changed  it  materially,  and  the  Mos¬ 
lems  of  Damascus  locate  the  scene  of  the  sleep  of  three 
hundred  and  nine  years  on  the  side  of  the  mountain  over- 


AMERICAN  MISSION. 


437 


looking  their  city,  where  is  now  the  mosk  of  the  Seven 

I  Sleepers. 

I  shall  not  pause  to  explain,  in  full,  the  reasons  for 
abandoning  my  projected  journey  to  Nineveh.  Enough 
for  me  to  say  that  I  was  disappointed  at  finding  that,  in 
the  present  state  of  the  war,  it  was  the  height  of  mad¬ 
ness,  especially  with  a  lady  in  the  party,  to  attempt  to 
cross  the  country  east  of  Damascus,  given  over,  as  it  now 
was,  to  roving  bands  of  robbers,  lawless,  and  owning  no 
allegiance  to  any  government  or  God.  I  abandoned  the 
plani  therefore,  with  reluctance,  but  satisfied  that  I  was 
doing  the  best  under  the  circumstances,  and  that  at 
another  day  I  might  be  able  to  accomplish  what  I  now 
left  unfinished.  It  was  with  reluctance  that  I  turned  my 
face  toward  Baalbec  and  the  Mediterranean. 

There  was  an  awful  row  in  the  entrance  to  the  court¬ 
yard  of  the  hotel  just  before  we  were  ready  to  start, 
which,  on  examination,  proved  to  be  the  process  of 
reducing  the  price  of  sundry  goods  which  the  dragoman 
of  some  newly  arrived  travelers  was  purchasing.  The 
market-man  made  an  exorbitant  demand,  and  the  drago¬ 
man  thrashed  him  till  he  named  a  fair  rate  of  bargain  and 
sale,  and  then  all  was  quiet. 

I  can  not  take  leave  of  Damascus  without  expressing 
my  admiration  of  the  mission  of  the  Scotch  Presbyterian 
church,  in  America,  which  is  established  here.  I  had  the 
pleasure  one  morning  of  attending  the  school  of  Miss 
Dale,  connected  with  the  mission,  and  of  observing  the 
scholars’  proficiency  in  their  several  studies.  I  was 
deeply  impressed  with  the  value  and  success  of  her 
labors.  The  position  occupied  by  the  entire  American 
mission  among  the  natives,  and  the  high  respect  felt  and 
expressed  for  them  constantly,  was  a  source  of  pride  and 
gratification  to  all  American  travelers.  I  was  particularly 
struck  with  the  affection  expressed  for  Dr.  Paulding, 


438 


A  CAMEL  DRIVER’S  GOAD. 


both  here  and  at  Zebdani,  where  he  usually  passes  the 
summer,  and  the  great  grief  which  his  intended  de¬ 
parture  had  caused. 

He  and  Mr.  Fraser  called  to  bid  us  good-by  as  we 
were  departing,  and  while  we  sat  on  our  horses  and 
talked  with  them  a  few  moments,  an  old  man  came  up 
with  an  armfull  of  camel  goads,  of  which  we  bought 
three.  Moreright  lost  his  in  Beyrout.  Whitely,  I  am 
^orry  to  say,  left  his  in  a  wine-shop  between  Civita  Vec- 
chia  and  Rome,  where  we  stopped  as  we  were  posting  up 
one  hot  day  of  the  next  summer,  and  I  brought  piine 
home.  It  is  a  stick  worth  possessing,  a  simple  almond 
branch  with  a  cross-piece  for  a  handle,  a  limb  being  cut 
off  with  one  branching  from  it,  and  the  handle  pointed 
sharp  on  both  sides :  with  one  side  the  driver  can  hook  it 
in  the  camel’s  nose  and  draw  his  head  down,  or  with  the 
other  he  can  goad  him  on.  The  peculiar  interest  in  the 
stick  is,  that  it  is  the  same  precisely  that  we  find  de¬ 
lineated  on  the  Egyptian  monuments  as  used  three  thou¬ 
sand  years  ago. 

We  rode  around  town  an  hour  looking  for  shot.  I  was 
out  of  the  article,  and  had  much  difficulty  in  procuring 
some,  but  after  a  long  search  I  found  precisely  what  I 
wanted,  and  thereby  hangs  a  tale  which  will  appear  here¬ 
after. 

As  we  rode  out  of  the  gate  of  the  city,  the  guard 
standing  in  the  archway  presented  arms,  expecting  a 
bucksheesh,  and  got  it,  and  we  then  rode  on  across  the 
valley  toward  Sulghiyeh,  the  chief  suburb  of  the  city, 
which  lies  at  the  foot  of  the  northern  mountains,  and  is  a 
peculiarly  sacred  place  from  its  old  mosks,  and  as  the 
burial-place  of  many  saints.  Passing  the  village,  we 
paused  on  a  knoll  behind  it  that  commanded  a  view  of 
the  plain,  which  may  well  rank  with  any  view  in  the 
world.  This,  and  the  view  we  had  a  half  hour  later  from 


WHEELED  VEHICLES. 


439 


the  summit  of  the  hill,  are  celebrated  in  travel  and  story, 
being  the  same  that  frightened  Mohammed  away  from 
Damascus,  lest  he  should  lose  heaven. 

The  Awaj,  or  crooked  river,  coming  into  the  plain 
from  the  south-west,  and  the  Barada,  from  the  north- 
west,  water  it,  as  I  have  already  stated.  The  latter 
river  is  probably  the  ancient  Pharpar,  and  if  so,  the 
former  is  undoubtedly  the  Abana.  But  nothing  can  be 

I  affirmed  of  either.  The  Barada  Hows  through  the  city, 
but  is  a  yellow,  muddy  stream  before  it  reaches  the  walls, 
although  in  the  mountain  it  is  very  clear  and  fine.  Both 
rivers  flow  eastward  to  the  great  marshy  lakes  which  lie 
twelve  miles  from  Damascus,  and  are  there  lost.  The 
sandy  soil  and  the  rays  of  the  hot  sun  absorb  or  dissipate 
the  waters. 

There  was  an  old  ruined  mosk  close  by  us,  presenting 
a  fine  appearance  of  Gothic  and  Saracen  architecture 
mingled,  and  beyond  lay  the  gardens  and  palaces  of  the 
city  of  Eden.  For  here  of  old  was  Beit  Eden — the 
abode  of  Eden — and  here  might  well  have  been  the  gar¬ 
den  of  Paradise. 

We  saw  in  the  open  court  of  the  fine  house  of  Raif 
Pasha,  two  wheeled  carriages,  one  on  four  wheels,  and 
the  other  a  sort  of  gig,  which  are  worthy  of  mention  as 
the  first  and  last  wheeled  carriages  that  we  saw  in  Asia. 
I  wonder  how  they  got  there,  and  what  he  does  with 
them,  for  there  is  not  a  road  on  which  he  can  use  them  in 
or  out  of  Damascus. 

It  was  a  grand  view,  and  I  impressed  it  on  my  mind 
forever.  We  stood  in  silence  for  a  long  while,  gazing  on 
city  and  plain,  and  then  waving  our  hands  toward  the 
city  for  a  last  greeting,  turned  somewhat  sadly  away. 

Betuni  had  been  sitting  on  his  donkey,  facing  the  city 
also,  and  the  donkev  and  his  rider  were  alike  interested 
in  the  view,  and  appreciated  it  equally  well. 


440 


BETUNI. 


As  we  moved  on,  Betuni  rode  up  alongside,  with  a 
flourish  of  his  turban  and  his  bare,  shorn  head,  rolling  and 
shining  in  the  sunlight,  as  he  shouted,  “  Good-by,  Mr. 
Damascus,  How  you  do  ?  Good-by,  Mr.  Damascus,”  and 
plumped  his  donkey  directly  in  front  of  Moreright,  who 
rode  with  a  free  rein,  and  sat  on  bis  horse  with  perfect 
grace,  and  who  now  rode  down  Betuni  with  a  coolness 
that  astounded  me  as  much  as  him.  The  donkey  stag¬ 
gered  ten  feet  and  fell,  and  Betuni  was  pitched  ten  further. 
The  donkey  was  up  first,  and  off  like  a  dark  streak  of 
lightning,  leaving  the  road  strewed  with  feed-bags  and 
saddle-bags,  boornooses,  and  other  rags  of  Betuni’s  bag¬ 
gage,  to  say  nothing  of  a  dozen  huge  wafer-cakes  of  bread, 
two  feet  in  diameter,  and  as  thin  as  a  knife-blade,  which 
Betuni  had  provided  for  his  luncheon,  and  used  on  his 
donkey  by  way  of  a  cushion  in  the  meantime.  By  the 
time  the  donkey  reached  the  custom-house,  there  was 
nothing  to  stop  him  for,  and  he  went  by,  at  a  shuffling 
gallop,  while  we  all  followed,  leaving  Betuni  to  pick  up 
his  traps  and  come  on  as  he  best  might. 

The  custom-house  was  a  cavern  at  a  narrow  defile  of  the 
road,  cut  through  the  rock,  and  not  more  than  six  feet 
wide ;  an  excellent  place  to  collect  tolls  on  all  goods  coming 
from  the  sea,  or  going  toward  it.  The  guard  shouted  for 
a  bucksheesh  as  we  plunged  by  him,  but  we  had  paid  our 
utmost  at  the  city  gate,  and  so  ive  rode  on,  up  the  steep, 
narrow,  winding  pass,  to  the  summit  of  the  hill,  by  the 
little  Dome  of  Victory  (Kubbet-el-Nasr),  and  here  paused 
for  our  last  view  of  the  magnificent  valley.  To  one  arriv¬ 
ing  here  from  among  the  gorges  of  Lebanon  that  we  wTere 
now  about  entering,  it  must  be  indeed  a  vision  as  of  Para¬ 
dise.  Let  me  pause,  a  moment,  here. 

In  a  distant  land,  on  the  summit  of  Lebanon,  surrounded 
by  dark-skinned  Arabs,  himself  wearing  the  dress  of  the 
desert,  and  the  beard  of  the  East,  there  stood,  that  calm, 


so  long! 


441 


still  morning,  a  young  man,  who,  after  far  journeyings, 
had  at  last  reached  the  extreme  point  of  his  wanderings, 
and  turned  his  face  once  more  to  his  father’s  home. 
Many  and  difficult  had  been  the  paths  his  feet  had  trod¬ 
den  from  the  days  when  that  father  first  taught  their 
steps.  They  had  now  borne  him  to  the  lands  of  the  pa¬ 
triarchs,  and  prophets,  and  the  Lord,  and  he  thought  to 
go  back  laden  with  rich  treasures  for  the  old  man’s  ears, 
in  the  happy  winter  nights  of  home.  Dark  countenances 
looked  on  him  as  he  gazed  for  the  last  time  on  Damascus. 
He  smiled  himself,  as  he  glanced  down  at  his  weather- 
stained  garments,  and  his  arms,  flashing  in  the  sunshine. 
He  wondered  if  the  old  man  would  know  him,  should  he 
walk  into  the  house  in  that  strange  guise. 

The  morning  sun  was  high  up  on  the  plains  of  Damas¬ 
cus,  but  it  was  still  dark  night  in  America,  and  there  was 
a  different  scene  there. 

As  the  evening  closed  in  around  him,  the  noble  old  man 
had  spoken  of  his  absent  boy,  and  asked,  “  When  did  he 
say,  in  the  last  letter,  that  he  might  be  home  ?” 

“  Perhaps  next  autumn.” 

“  So  long — so  long  !”  he  murmured,  but  not  sadly,  for 
he  was  of  cheerful  mood  that  night,  and  lay  down  to  rest 
right  happy,  after  praying  for  the  wanderers. 

And  in  the  calm  night,  when  he  could  not  sleep,  but 
did  not  dream  of  the  presence  of  the  messenger  of  God, 
while  the  companion  of  almost  a  half  century  was  talking 
with  him,  as  in  the  nights  of  long-gone  years,  he  ceased 
to  speak. 

No  sigh,  or  sound,  or  tremor  of  the  lip,  announced 
the  coming  change. 

The  angel  was  in  the  room,  and  when  the  moment 
came,  interrupted  the  scene,  and  bade  him  to  the  com¬ 
pany  on  the  other  side  of  the  vail,  and  he  went  forth  to 
meet  the  apostles  and  prophets. 

19* 


/ 


4 


442 


THE  HILLS  OF  HEAVEN. 


Yea,  the  grand  old  man  lay  dead,  and  none  knew  it ! 
and  when  at  length  the  wife  of  half  a  century  clasped  him 
in  her  arms,  and  laid  her  cheek  to  his  in  the  dim  light  of 
the  night  candle,  and  called  him  by  old  names  of  endear¬ 
ment,  then  their  boy  was  wandering  on  the  hills  of  Leba¬ 
non,  singing  a  gay  song  to  his  horse,  and  as  he  climbed  a  . 
higher  steep,  his  father  was  climbing  the  hills  of  heaven. 


Gi'oggiiig  Bnfi~3Ub{|i)or). 


The  change  from  the  rich  plain  of  Damascus  to  the 
"bleak  and  barren  hills  of  Anti-Lebanon,  was  sudden  and 
painful.  At  Dumar,  one  hour  and  a  half  from  Damascus, 
we  came  to  the  bank  of  the  Barada,  which  rushes  hence 
down  a  deep  and  terrible  gorge,  to  the  plain.  We  did 
not  cross  the  bridge  here,  but  having  sent  on  the  tents 
to  await  ns  at  Suk  el  Barada  (the  market  of  the  Ba¬ 
rada),  we  diverged  to  the  right,  for  the  purpose  of  visit¬ 
ing  the  great  fountain  of  the  Barada  at  Feejee. 

We  rode  through  a  desolate  country  among  the  hills 
for  three  or  four  hours,  pausing  only  to  rest  at  luncheon, 
and  seeing  neither  grass  nor  tree  ; .  though  I  saw  some 
ploughed  land  which  might  hereafter  be  green.  At  three 
o’clock  we  turned  to  the  left,  and  came  down  a  ravine,  to 
the  bank  of  the  river  again,  at  a  little  place  called  Mes- 
sima  (or  Bessima  ?). 

The  hill-sides  here,  as  we  descended  toward  the  river, 
were  filled  with  open  tombs,  one  hill  being  an  absolute 
honey-comb.  At  Messima  I  found  the  remains  of  an 
ancient  aqueduct,  carried  down  the  bank  of  the  Barada, 
through  solid  mountains,  by  long  tunnels,  the  object  of 
which  I  can  not  imagine,  unless  I  suppose  it  to  be  part  of 
an  aqueduct  to  Palmyra.  The  work  continued  below 
Messima  by  a  rock-tunnel  of  great  skill  and  labor,  of  the 


444  SPRING  AT  PEEJEE. 

extent  of  which  I  had  not  the  time  to  obtain  any  idea, 
further  than  the  view  we  had  of  it  as  we  rode  into  the 
valley.  We  saw  it  like  a  canal  in  the  perpendicular  side 
of  the  rock,  with  occasional  short  tunnels,  for  some  hun¬ 
dred  feet,  and  then  it  entered  the  rocks,  and  must  have 
extended  at  least  three  hundred  feet  before  it  ao;ain 
emerged.  Messima  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  spots  on 
earth,  a  gem  of  green  valley  under  lofty  precqfices. 

Our  road  now  continued  up  the  left  bank  of  the  river. 
The  ravine  was  one  of  great  scenery.  The  rocks  on  each 
side  were  lofty,  precipitous,  and  grand.  Crags,  a  thou¬ 
sand  feet  high,  overhung  our  way.  The  narrow  valley,  or 
bottom  of  the  ravine,  was  filled  with  poplar-trees,  which 
are  cultivated  throughout  this  country  as  the  only  timber 
for  house-building.  We  saw  them  first  at  Beit  Jin, 
planted  in  rows  along  the  bed  of  the  stream,  and  on  lit¬ 
tle  islands  in  it.  Here  the  same  plan  was  pursued,  so  that 
they  grew  tall  and  slender,  and,  being  carefully  trimmed, 
were  kept  straight  and  free  from  knots.  There  was  one 
hill  on  the  south  side  that  seemed  to  have  been  thrown 
up  by  an  earthquake.  The  strata  were  within  ten  de¬ 
grees  of  being  perpendicular,  running  up  to  the  point  of 
the  mountain,  which  stood  a  thousand  feet  up  in  the  sky 
in  perfect  grandeur.  At  four  o’clock  we  were  at  Feejee, 
and  here  found  what  I  presume  the  present  state  of  geog¬ 
raphy  will  confirm  me  in  saying  is  the  finest  fountain  in  the 
world.  I  had  thought  so  of  Tell-el-Khady  and  of  Banias, 
but  this  surpassed  them  both. 

There  is  a  barren,  rocky  hill,  five  hundred  feet  high, 
which  stands  on  the  north  side  of  the  Barada  valley. 
Under  the  base  of  this  a  strong  river  gushes  out  of  an  old 
and  ruined  archway.  It  springs  out  like  a  living  thing. 
It  is  strong,  furious,  noble  in  its  first  plunge ;  and  it  goes 
down  the  ravine  as  if  it  had  a  great  work  to  accomplish 
somewhere  and  were  hastening  to  if.  It  is  very  strange 


r 


SILVER  SKULL-CAPS.  445 

that  all  the  greatest  springs  in  the  world  have  no  outlets, 
but  run  to  naught — the  Jordan  to  the  Dead  Sea,  and 
this  to  the  lakes  of  Damascus.  This  spring  has  in  ancient 
times  been  covered  with  a  temple ;  and  the  remains  of 
several  such  buildings  still  stand  around  it.  We  dis¬ 
mounted  on  a  narrow  platform  at  the  foot  of  the  rocky 
mountain,  which  was  built  to  support  a  small  four-sided 
building.  The  front  of  the  platform  was  of  large  stone 
in  five  courses,  supported  on  an  arch  of  five  large  stones. 
This  arch  was  about  twelve  feet  wide  and  five  or  six 
high.  From  this  the  river  comes.  Within  the  arch  the 
spring  had  hollowed  out  a  sort  of  cavern,  where  it  roared 
and  boiled  furiously  before  it  came  out. 

On  the  level  at  the  side  of  the  spring  are  the  side-walls 
of  a  building  which  had  formerly  an  arched  roof,  now 
gone.  A  niche  for  a  statue  remains  in  the  rear  wall,  and 
two  others  in  the  sides  of  the  front  entrance. 

Over  the  fountain  in  the  side  of  the  rocky  hill  is  a 
cavern,  reminding  one  of  the  same  peculiarity  at  Banias, 
and  suggesting  the  idea  whether  both  may  not  be  arti¬ 
ficial,  having  been  attempts  to  provide  an  outlet  for  the 
spring,  at  a  higher  level,  which  were  abandoned  almost 
as  soon  as  commenced.  Neither  cavern  appears  to  have 
any  of  the  ordinary  characteristics  of  a  natural  grotto. 

The  village  of  Feejee  is  a  few  rods  below  the  spring. 
Young  girls  began  to  come  down  to  the  spring,  each 
having  in  her  hand  a  curious  silver  bowl,  with  silver 
chains  and  coins  attached,  with  which  they  dipped  water 
and  gave  us  to  drink.  After  a  drink  all  around  they  ap¬ 
plied  them  to  their  original  purposes,  being  neither  more 
nor  less  than  coverings  for  their  dirty  heads ! — a  solid 
silver  skull-cap  ! — the  form  of  bridal  presents  in  Anti- 
Lebanon,  which  every  bride  expects  on  or  before  her 
marriage  ! 

Miriam’s  inclination  to  throw  back  the  water  she  had 


446 


ABILA. 


been  drinking  out  of  the  silver  cup  was  overcome  by 
hastily  mounting  her  horse  and  starting  at  a  gallop  up 
the  valley,  an  example  that  we  all  followed. 

As  this  road  is  seldom  traveled,  I  give  the  distances 
here  for  the  benefit  of  future  travelers.  From  Dumar  to 
Feejee,  without  pause,  in  three  hours.  We  left  the  foun¬ 
tain  at  half-past  four.  The  stream  of  the  Barada  was 
now  much  more  than  half  diminished. 

5  o’clock,  Dayr-el-Kerrim. 

5.15,  Kafr-e’-Zait,  and  opposite  Dayr  Anous  or  Anoun. 

5.35,  Kafr  Hassaneeyeh,  on  the  opposite  side. 

Here  we  saw  before  us  the  lofty  cliffs  of  Abila,  which 
we  were  approaching,  and  under  which  the  tents  were  to 
be  pitched.  Whitely  and  Moreright  rode  on  ahead  $f 
us,  while  Miriam  and  I  loitered  slowly  along. 

Abila  is  a  noble  cliff,  on  the  summit  of  which  there  is  a 
table  of  good  land,  on  which  a  few  trees  find  root  and 
fringe  the  edge  of  the  lofty  precipice.  The  Moslem  tra¬ 
dition  locates  there  the  grave  of  Abel,  who  they  think 
was  murdered  by  Cain  at  Zebdani.  Adam  carried  the 
body  about  with  him  until,  taught  by  the  example  of  a 
raven,  who  dug  a  grave  and  buried  a  dead  bird  before 
him,  he  too  buried  his  dead  in  the  first  grave  of  earth. 

The  similarity  of  the  name  Abel  to  Abila  will  strike 
the  reader ;  and  it  is  very  possible  that  the  tradition 
arose  from  the  name  of  the  hill,  which  it  bore  before  the 
days  of  the  false  prophet. 

But  it  might  well  be  that  Paradise  was  hereabouts. 
This,  of  all  hills  on  earth,  would  be  a  fit  one  whereon  to 
build  an  altar  to  God.  The  blue  sky  of  t.he  evening 
rested  on  its  very  summit ;  the  clouds  swept  calmly  and 
lovingly  by.  At  5.50  we  were  at  Kafr  el  Ow-e-meet, 
and,  turning  short  to  the  left,  we  crossed  the  Barada  by 
a  low,  ruined  stone  bridge,  and  entered  the  road  from 
Damascus  to  Beyrout.  Continuing  up  the  valley  ten 


A  MARONITE  FAMILY. 


447 


minutes,  we  were  at.  Suk  Wady  Barada,  where  the  tents 
were  to  be  ;  but  we  did  not  find  them  till  6.10,  when  we 
were  almost  on  top  of  them.  They  were  pitched  in  a 
niche,  cut  in  the  rocky  hill-side,  for  the  floor  of  some 
ancient  building  now  wholly  gone.  The  platform  was 
sheltered  on  three  sides  by  the  smooth  rock  walls ;  a 
more  beautiful  spot  for  a  camp  could  not  be  selected. 

A  party  of  Maronites — grandmother,  father,  and  mother, 
and  a  host  of  children — had  placed  themselves  under  our 
protection  for  the  night,  and  were  curled  up  in  the  cor¬ 
ners  of  the  rock  in  a  picturesque  little  group.  I  threw 
myself  on  the  ground,  and  watched  the  coming  darkness 
steal  over  the  mountain  tops,  fall  into  and  fill  up  the 
valley. 

Betuni  had  not  gotten  over  his  morning’s  mishap,  and 
was  abusing  the  horses  generally,  wherefore  he  got  a  kick 
from  Mohammed  that  sent  him  in  a  heap  into  the  Maro- 
nite  gi’oup,  whence  he  sprang  to  his  feet  and  spit  at  Mo¬ 
hammed,  the  horse,  with  all  the  venom  conceivable.  I 
shouted  at  the  scene,  and  then  Betuni  stumped  up  in 
front  of  me,  in  all  the  glory  of  a  new  pair  of  morocco 
boots,  with  enormous  crimson  tops,  and  began  to  address 
me  in  the  Betuni  style ;  the  more  he  talked,  the  more  I 
shouted  with  laughter.  Miriam  came  out  to  see  the  fun ; 
Whitely  and  Moreright  stood  behind  him,  and  helped 
provoke  him  to  more  furious  anger  ;  and,  in  the  midst  of 
all,  Ferrajj  came  with  his  white  eyes  and  teeth  and  robe, 
to  announce  dinner,  to  which  we  hastened. 

While  we  sat  at  the  table,  with  coffee  and  pipes,  Be- 
tuni’s  head  appeared  under  the  canvas. 

“  One  cigarra,  Mister  Wittely ;  one  cigarra,  for  Be¬ 
tuni.”  And  when  Whitely  had  thrown  a  cigar  at  him,  he 
attacked  Moreright  for  a  pair  of  socks,  to  wear  under  his 
boots  ;  and  when  he  had  got  them  he  retired,  and  in  five 
minutes  we  heard  a  row  at  the  camp  fire,  and  Betuni  was 


448 


TOMB  OF  ABEL 


in  fresh  trouble.  His  mishaps  only  ended  with  the  day ; 
but  what  that  row  was  I  never  knew,  for  I  slept  tremen¬ 


dously, 


I  have  described  our  camp  ground.  The  nature  of  the 
building  which  had  formerly  occupied  it,  I  can  not  even 
guess.  But  that  it  was  in  or  near  the  ancient  city  of 
Abila,  there  can  be  little  doubt. 

In  the  morning  I  attempted  to  climb  the  hill,  but  gave 
out  a  thousand  feet  above  the  camp.  Moreright  pushed 
on,  and  found  the  tomb  of  Abel ;  a  mound,  thirty  feet 
long,  surrounded  by  the  ruins  of  an  ancient  temple,  and 
covered  with  a  Mohammedan  structure  of  the  nature  of  a 
wely. 

The  Moslems  have  gigantic  ideas  of  the  patriarchs. 
The  grave  of  Eve,  at  Jedda,  on  the  Red  Sea,  is  about  a 
hundred  feet  long.  That  of  Joshua,  on  the  Bosj)horus,  is 
of  similar  size.  Hoah’s  resting-place,  on  the  east  slope  of 
Lebanon,  at  Maalakha,  where  we  were  a  few  days  later,  is 
more  than  eighty  feet  long  ;  and  the  traditions  of  the  size 
of  Adam  represent  him  as  so  large  that,  in  traversing  the 
world’s  surface,  he  left  footprints  on  only  such  places  as 
are  now  occupied  by  cities,  while  the  intermediate  country 
was  untouched  in  his  gigantic  strides. 

From  a  seat  on  the  hill-side  I  saw  our  mule  caravan 
getting  away,  and  one  by  one  disappearing  up  the 
ravine.  When  I  came  down  the  hill,  Miriam  sat  on  her 
horse  waiting  for  me,  and  Whitely  stood  near.  More- 
right  was  on  the  hill,  and  had  not  yet  appeared  ;  but  at 
length  we  heard  his  shout  from  the  sky,  and  saw  him 
walking  along  the  summit  looking  for  a  spot  where  he 
could  safely  descend.  By  nine  o’clock  we  were  all  in  the 
saddle.  The  hill-sides  were  full  of  tombs,  the  abandoned 
sleeping-places  of  the  ancient  men  of  Abila.  A  little  way 
up  the  ravine  we  examined  some  of  them. 

Abilene  is  mentioned  in  Luke,  iii.  1,  as  the  tetrarchy 


ANCIENT  HEWN  ROAD. 


449 


of  Lysanias,  and  “  Abila  of  Lysanias”  is  mentioned  by 
Josephus.  We  have,  however,  no  history  of  the  city  of 
which  the  neighboring  remains  attest  the  splendor. 

As  we  advanced,  the  ravine  became  very  narrow  and 
picturesque.  We  at  length  reached  a  lofty  stone  bridge 
of  one  pointed  arch,  under  which  the  Barada  foamed  and 
dashed  down  the  rocks.  We  crossed,  and  now  observed 
the  hills  above  us,  perforated  with  the  doors  of  tombs. 
The  hills  on  the  north  side  approached  the  stream  here, 
and  through  the  rocky  bluff  was  cut  a  broad  and  fine 
road,  which  would  put  to  shame  modern  railway  cuttings. 
Underneath  it,  lower  down  the  hill,  was  the  tunnel  of  an 
aqueduct,  which  passed  through  the  bluff,  and  was  carried 
a  long  distance  by  a  channel  cut  in  the  side  of  the  per¬ 
pendicular  face  of  the  rock.  We  traced  it  afterward  for 
some  miles  up  to  the  point  at  which  it  had  evidently  re¬ 
ceived  the  water  of  the  stream  for  the  supply  of  Abila. 

I  passed  an  hour  here  examining  the  road,  and  aque¬ 
duct,  and  the  tombs,  which  are  on  the  receding  hill-side 
above  them. 

The  entire  length  of  the  cutting  for  the  road  was  about 
five  hundred  feet.  It  was  fifteen  feet  six  inches  wide, 
the  sides  perpendicular  and  smooth,  the  floor  a  perfect 
level.  It  crossed  the  spur  of  the  mountain,  and  ended 
abruptly  at  a  precipice,  thirty  feet  high.  The  continua¬ 
tion  must  have  been  on  a  track  supported  by  large  stone 
columns,  of  which  many  were  lying,  broken  to  pieces,  on 
the  hill  below,  as  well  as  large  stones  that  probably 
formed  part  of  the  way. 

The  inscriptions  which  are  carved  on  the  sides  of  this 
cutting,  and  repeated  on  the  hill-side  at  the  other  extrem¬ 
ity  of  the  tunnel  of  the  aqueduct,  have  been  repeatedly 
copied  and  published,  but  it  may  be  interesting  to  some 
readers  if  I  give  my  own  copy  of  them  here,  which  in 
some  respects  differs  from  any  I  have  seen,  probably  be- 


450 


INSCRIPTIONS. 


cause  I  copied  the  western  inscriptions,  while  others  have 
taken  the  eastern.  The  difference  is  chiefly  in  the  ar¬ 
rangement  oflines,  and  in  the  addition  of  the  letters  IT, 
which  are  wanting  in  Dr.  Robinson’s  copy,  in  the  last 
line  of  the  smaller  inscription. 

The  smaller  inscription  was  on  a  smooth  tablet,  with 
an  arched  top,  directly  under  a  niche,  which  had  once 
held  a  statue.  The  other  inscription  was  on  a  large  ob¬ 
long  tablet,  below  the  surface  of  the  wall ;  the  last  line 
was  outside  of  the  tablet,  on  the  slope  of  the  rough 
stone.  By  tablet,  in  both  cases,  I  mean  simply  the  nat¬ 
ural  rock  smoothed  and  bordered  with  a  bead  or  other 
ornamental  edge. 

The  following  is  the  larger  inscrijition : 

I M  P  C  A  E  SMAVRELAN  TONINVS 
A  V  G  A  R  ME  1ST  IACYSET 
IMPC  AESL  AVREL  VER  V  SAY  GAR 
MENIACVSVIAMFLVMINIS 
VI ABRVPT AMINTERC  SO 
MONTERESTITVERVNTPER 
IVLVE  R  VM  L  E  G  PR  PRPROVI NC 
SYR  ETAMICVMSVVM 

INPENDIISABILENORVM 

And  this  is  the  smaller : 

PROSALVTE 
I M  PA  VG  ANTONI 
N  IE TVER I MV  O 
LV  SIV  SMAXIMV  S 
1LEGXVIFF 
QVI  O  PE  RUN 
STITITVS 


TOMBS  IN  THE  ROCKS. 


451 


I  walked  through  the  aqueduct  for  three  hundred  feet 
or  more,  creeping  where  it  was  a  tunnel.  It  was  very 
uniformly  twenty-six  inches  wide  and  four  feet  high  ;  but 
where  it  was  not  tunneled,  it  was  often  a  narrow  cutting, 
twenty  feet  deep. 

The  tombs  on  the  side  of  the  hill,  above  this  place,  are 
of  great  interest.  A  flight  of  twenty  steps,  cut  in  the 
rock,  led  up  to  the  front  of  three,  which  opened  on 
the  same  platform.  One  of  these  had  sixteen  burial- 
places,  and  these  were  remarkable  as  having  the  same 
style  of  arched  places  of  deposit,  as  I  observed  in  the 
tomb  of  Helena  at  Jerusalem,  and  in  the  curious  tomb 

(which  I  have  described  at  Aceldama.  The  places  of  de¬ 
posit,  however,  were  deep  in  the  rock,  and  it  was  very 
evident  that  each  grave  was  covered  with  a  large  stone, 
tightly  sealed,  for  the  outer  room  had  two  small  perfo¬ 
rations,  for  light  and  air,  opening  out  at  the  sides  of  the 
doorway,  indicating  that  it  was  used  for  occasional  visits 
by  the  living,  who  might  sit  within  it. 

The  same  was  remarkable  of  one  of  the  tombs  at  Acel¬ 
dama,  where  there  were  small  square  windows  between 
the  first  and  second  chambers. 

The  most  curious  tombs  here,  however,  were  those 
which  abounded  along  the  hill-side,  where  the  excavation 
was  perpendicular,  as  if  a  single  grave  were  to  be  dug  in 
the  rock  seven  feet  by  two.  Three  feet  below  the  surface 
this  widened  to  four  feet  and  a  half  or  five,  and  two 
graves  were  then  continued  down,  side  by  side,  to  a 
depth  I  could  not  ascertain  because  of  the  earth  that  par¬ 
tially  filled  them.  These  couples  of  graves  were  repeated 
all  along  the  hill-side,  and  in  some  places  they  were  as 
thick  as  graves  in  an  old  church-yard.  Many  of  the  ex¬ 
cavated  tombs  were  large  and  roomy,  with  graves  in  the 
floor  and  at  the  sides.  The  tombs  reminded  us  very  for¬ 
cibly  of  those  around  Jerusalem. 


452 


AN  AQUEDUCT. 


Returning  after  an  hour  here,  I  found  that  Miriam 
had  gone  on  with  Abd-el-Atti,  leaving  Betuni  with  the 
horses,  to  wait  for  us.  I  much  desired  to  explore  a 
dark  ravine  that  came  down  through  the  hills  below  the 
precipitous  termination  of  the  cut  wTay,  but  had  not 
time. 

The  aqueduct  continued  for  more  than  a  thousand 
feet  in  the  hill-side,  as  wTe  rode  on  up  the  valley.  A  gal¬ 
lop  of  twenty  minutes  brought  us  to  the  head  of  the 
ravine,  a  broad  green  plain,  where  the  Barada  made  a 
plunge  of  seventy  feet,  in  a  line  cascade.  There  were  re¬ 
mains  of  two  ruined  bridges  across  it,  above  the  fall,  and 
here  we  found  the  ruins  of  the  dam  which  was  the  com¬ 
mencement  of. the  aqueduct.  Hence  the  Beyrout  road 
continued  westerly,  crossing  the  river  a  mile  above  this 
fall,  at  a  fine  large  mill,  the  best  that  I  have  seen  in  the 
East.  This  is  Tahoun  el  Takea.  We  turned  to  the  right, 
leaving  the  mill  and  bridge  on  the  left,  our  destination 
being  Baalbec,  to  reach  which,  we  made  a  detour  of  some 
days  to  the  northward. 

While  we  paused  to  examine  the  ruined  bridges  and 
dam,  Moreright  had  gone  on,  leaving  Whitely  and  myself 
alone. 

The  horses  were  in  line  condition,  and  we  had  now  a 
better  road  before  us  than  we  had  seen  for  two  days. 
Giving  Mohammed  the  rein,  I  led,  with  a  shout,  and 
Whitely  followed. 

The  splendid  animals  strained  every  nerve,  and  went 
off  in  grand  style.  The  Prophet  himself  would  have  been 
satisfied  with  their  appearance,  and  pronounced  them  of 
the  best  blood  of  the  Khamsa.  For  ten  minutes  the  brown 
kept  close  on  my  flank,  but  then,  as  the  ground  became  a 
little  heavy,  he  dropped  behind,  and,  a  moment  after,  I 
heard  a  cry  from  Whitely.  Looking  around,  I  saw  that 
his  saddle-girth  had  given  out,  and  the  next  moment  he 


WOMEN  OF  ZEBDANI. 


453 


was  off.  I  spoke  to  Mohammed,  and  he  brought  up  in 
that  cannon-ball-against-a-roek  style,  that  the  Arab  horses 
alone  can  imitate.  The  bay  stopped,  as  suddenly.  We 
lost  ten  minutes  by  this  accident,  and  had  now  a  long 
gallop  to  overtake  the  party,  whom  we  could  see  four 
miles  ahead  of  us. 

As  we  approached  Zebdani,  the  scenery  became  sin¬ 
gularly  home-like.  There  were  fences,  and,  most  striking 
of  all,  old-fashioned,  high-post  gates,  that  looked  as  if  they 
would  open  and  let  me  into  that  shady  lane,  down  which  I 
used  to  loiter  in  the  summer  evenings  of  the  long-gone 
years,  or  into  the  grove  where  the  robins  sang,  close  to 
the  old  house. 

The  valley  was  luxuriant  with  fruit,  olives  and  mul¬ 
berries.  On  the  side  of  the  mountain,  at  our  right,  was 
Bludan,  the  summer  residence  of  the  Damascus  mission¬ 
aries,  looking  right  pleasant  in  the  valley.  The  tops  of 
all  the  hills  at  the  left,  as  well  as  right,  were  covered  with 
snow,  although  the  valley  was  warm  and  green.  We 
overtook  Miriam  among  the  trees  and  hedges  of  Zebdeen, 
or  Zebdani,  at  the  head  of  the  valley. 

She  was  sitting  under  the  mulberry-trees,  in  a  field,  at 
the  side  of  the  road,  and  the  entire  female  and  juvenile 
population  of  the  town  were  around  her.  She  happened 
to  be  sewing  a  rent  in  her  riding-dress,  and  the  needle  at¬ 
tracted  the  admiration  of  the  'women,  w  ho  were  all  work¬ 
ing  on  embroideries  for  the  Damascus  market. 

In  a  moment  she  had  a  dozen  applications  for  the 
desired  treasures,  and  her  pocket  needle-case  was  soon 
emptied.  There  is  no  gift  which  travelers  can  take  to 
the  oriental  women  more  eagerly  sought  for  and  more 
gratefully  received. 

There  w^as  one  beautiful  little  girl  among  the  crowd. 
Her  black  eyes  haunted  us  afterward.  When  we  rode 
on,  she  followed  by  the  side  of  Miriam’s  horse,  shouting 


her  delight  at  the  long  grave  sentences  of  English  which 
she  addressed  to  her,  and  which  seemed  to  go  to  her 
heart,  though  she  did  not  understand  them. 

The  family,  whom  I  have  mentioned,  as  sleeping  near 
our  tents,  in  the  valley  of  the  Barada,  had  amused  us 
considerably,  in  the  morning.  They  were  Maronites, 
from  the  neighborhood  of  Baalbec,  who  had  been  down 
to  Damascus,  in  search  of  work,  and  were  returning  with¬ 
out  having  found  it.  They  were  very  poor,  but  very 
worthy  people.  Abd-el-Atti,  although  a  Mussulman,  took 
much  interest  in  them,  and,  in  the  morning,  dosed  the 
entire  family,  from  grandmother  to  baby,  with  arrakee,  of 
which  he  had  a  bottle  presented  him  in  Damascus,  by 
Meluk,  in  the  way  of  commission  on  our  purchases.  Then 
he  packed  the  young  ones  on  a  baggage-mule,  and  sent 
the  entire  lot  of  them  off  with  the  train. 

As  we  left  Zebdani  and  mounted  the  hill  north  of  the 
village,  we  found  one  of  the  children,  a  fine-looking  girl 
of  fourteen,  resting  by  the  side  of  the  road,  with  her 
brother,  two  years  older,  to  guard  her.  Abd-el-Atti  put 
her  on  his  horse,  and  walked  for  an  hour,  and  then  she 
managed  to  keep  up  with  us  as  we  went  slowly  on  to 
Sulghiyeh,  where  we  found  the  tent  pitched  among  an 
immense  display  of  macaroni,  vermicelli,  and  various  other 
eatables  that  lay  around  on  table-cloths  spread  on  the 
ground.  One  of  the  mules  had  fallen  into  the  Barada,  and 
soaked  his  load,  which  was  in  a  doubtful  condition  in  con¬ 
sequence.  Abd-el-Atti  boiled  the  stuff  in  a  heap  and  made 
a  grand  mess,  which  he  gave  to  the  Maronite  family,  in 
consequence  whereof  the  old  man,  who  lay  just  outside 
my  tent,  slept  so  soundly  and  so  loud  that  I  had  to  shout 
to  him  a  half  dozen  times  before  morning  to  take  a  little 
resting  spell  and  give  me  a  chance  for  a  few  winks. 

What  a  glorious  night  that  was  in  the  tents,  even  as  all 
the  nights  were  glorious.  Our  dinner-table  was  always 


F  ERR  A  J  J. 


455 


set  in  Whitely  and  Moreright’s  tent.  Dinner  occupied 
an  hour,  and  after  dinner  Ferrajj  brought  the  chibouks, 
and  Hajji  Mohammed  perfected  such  Mocha  as  might 
have  intoxicated  gods  that  were  susceptible  to  ambrosial 
influences.  The  table  stood  across  one  side  of  the  tent, 
and  two  beds  across  the  other  sides.  We  sat  on  camp 
stools,  or  lounged  on  the  beds  for  sofas.  Books  were 
piled  on  the  table  after  the  dinner  was  cleared  away.  It 
was  a  favorite  joke  of  Betuni — which  he  sometimes  re¬ 
peated  when  on  his  mule  along  the  road — to  come  in  with 
the  large  copy  of  Robinson  which  we  carried  in  the  lun¬ 
cheon  saddle-bags,  open  in  his  hands,  reading  aloud,  “To¬ 
morrow  we  go  seven  hours  Sulghiyeh — to-morrow  we  go 
six  hours  Baalbec,”  certain  that  his  monkey  face  would  be 
greeted  with  abundant  merriment. 

Ferrajj  was  omnipresent.  “  Ferrajj,  more  hot  milk.” 
“  Yez,  zur.”  “  Ya-Ferrajj,  haat  el  Ketub  akmar.”  “  Aiowah 
Howajji.”  “  Ferrajj,  tell  Betuni  to  see  that  that  saddle* 
girth  is  strong.”  “Yez,  zur.”  “Ferrajj,  hang  my  riding- 
skirt  by  the  kitchen  fire.”  “Yez,  mum.”  “Ferrajj,  some 
coffee ;  fill  my  chibouk ;  bring  me  another  mouth-piece 
out  of  the  red  saddle-bags  ;  and  while  you  ’re  there,  find 
the  small  Greek  Testament  that  is  somewhere  in  the  large 
bag,  and  tell  Selim  to  rub  Mohammed’s  shoulders  well 
with  arrakee  and  warm  water  and — ”  “  Come  here,  Fer¬ 
rajj.”  “  Yez,  zur and  the  black  head  would  come  through 
the  canvas,  for  we  always  shouted  to  him  in  the  kitchen 
tent,  and  some  fresh  orders  would  be  given,  and  he  would 
remember  every  separate  direction,  nor  omit  an  iota  of 
it  all. 


30. 


Ji)e  6if(j  of  ifoe  Sun* 


From  Sulghiyeh  to  Baalbec  the  road  was  picturesque 
and  wild.  Sometimes  we  went  along  precipitous  hill-sides, 
looking  down  a  thousand  feet  into  the  ravines,  through 
which  loud  brawling  streams  went  swiftly  toward  the 
Mediterranean,  and  at  others  we  traced  the  course  of 
such  streams  with  the  hills  far  above  us. 

We  lunched  in  a  deep,  warm,  sunny  valley,  cooling  our 
wine  with  snow  that  we  had  brought  from  the  high  ridge 
of  the  mountain  as  we  crossed  it,  such  were  the  changes 
of  climate  from  hour  to  hour.  Our  route  lay  through  the 
mountains  of  the  Anti-Lebanon  range,  from  which  we  at 
length  emerged  on  the  great  plain  that  lies  between  it 
and  the  true  Lebanon,  whose  lofty  and  grand  hills,  snow¬ 
capped  and  magnificent,  now  towered  in  the  western  sky. 
As  we  came  out  on  the  plain,  the  grand  ruins  of  Baalbec 
were  visible  before  us,  and  we  rode  on  at  a  rapid  pace 
toward  them. 

If  all  the  ruins  of  ancient  Rome  that  are  in  and  around 
the  modern  city  were  gathered  together  in  one  group, 
they  would  not  equal  the  extent  of  the  ruins  of  Baalbec, 

The  remark  may  seem  strange,  or  even  extravagant, 
but  I  believe  it  to  be  literally  true.  And  yet  a  mystery 
hangs  about  these  mighty  relics  which  time  will  never 
unfold.  Who  laid  up  these  vast  walls,  who  carved  these 


VIA  DOLOROSA,  NEAR  OUR  HIRED  HOUSE 


457 


IMMORTALITY. 

« 

stately  columns,  who  walked  these  halls  and  worshiped  in 
these  temples  ?  is  almost  as  dark  a  question  as  who  built 
the  pyramids  of  Sakkara,  or  who  slept  in  the  sarcophagus 
of  Cheops.  Standing  in  the  Temple  of  the  Sun,  and  look¬ 
ing  up  to  the  sky  through  its  shattered  roof,  I  asked  the 
question  of  the  blue  air  that  knows  so  many  mysteries, 
and  received  the  answer  of  the  sky. 

Somewhere  beyond  or  this  side  of  the  blue — somewhere, 
there  are  immortals  that  know  it  all,  whose  knees  once 
pressed  these  marble  floors  with  the  devotion  of  wor¬ 
shipers,  whose  voices  once  echoed  in  these  arches  in 
hymns  of  praise.  Altars  and  worshipers  are  dust,  and 
the  sun,  day  by  day,  looks  down  through  the  broken  roof 
on  the  deserted  and  ruinous  fane  that  they  built  to  his 
worship,  and  laughs  with  his  soft  summer  laugh  at  the 
memory  of  their  wind-scattered  incense. 

And  there  to-day  it  seems  not  strange  that  men  should 
worship  the  sun,  who,  with  the  same  smile,  looks  down 
on  the  ruined  temple  as  he  looked  down  on  the  temple- 
builders  thousands  of  years  ago. 

There  is  something  in  the  heart  of  man  that  worships 
the  immutable,  more  than  the  invisible.  The  creature 
of  the  day  reaches  out  his  arms  and  longs  to  embrace  that 
which  was  born  a  thousand  years  ago,  and  adores  that 
which  will  last  a  thousand  years  to  come.  But  that  which 
changes  not,  as  the  years  change — that  which  stands  up 
firm  above  the  shifting  sands  of  the  desert  of  life — that 
which  looks  down  from  a  clear  sky  beyond  driving  mists 
— he  bows  down  before  that,  and  of  that  he  begs  immor¬ 
tality.  For,  after  all,  the  innate  religion  of  the  human 
heart,  of  which  so  much  is  written  and  so  much  said,  is 
the  desire  for  eternity  of  existence,  which  men  in  a  state 
of  nature  but  guess  at,  and  dimly  understand.  It  was  not, 
so  strange  that  the  men  of  old  times  worshiped  the  sun 
and  stars. 


20 


458 


B  A  A  L  B  E  C  . 


I,  too,  half  worshiped  the  sky  that  night  as  I  sat  in 
my  tent  door,  under  the  lofty  columns  of  the  Temple  of 
the  Sun. 

The  modern  village  of  Baalbec  is  situated  on  the  north 
and  east  of  the  great  temples,  on  the  level  of  the  plain, 
above  which  the  latter  are  elevated.  The  platform  of  the 
temples,  which  I  shall  hereafter  describe,  is  bounded  on 
the  east  by  the  eastern  colonnades  of  the  great  Temple  of 
the  Sun,  which  runs  along  the  edge  of  it,  and  of  which 
many  of  the  columns  and  the  carved  ceiling  are  now 
fallen  and  lying  in  fragments  below,  forming  an  immense 
mass  of  ruin.  Outside  of  these  our  tents  were  pitched ; 
I  had  intended  to  place  them  within  the  temple. 

As  we  approached  the  vast  pile,  and  entered  the  old 
Saracen  wall  which  surrounded  it,  I  paused  in  silent 
wonderment  before  the  ruins.  We  went  in  silence  around 
the  sustaining  wall  of  the  platform  on  which  the  ruins 
stand,  looking  up  at  the  massive  temples  that  were  piled 
on  it ;  on  the  north  side  I  found  a  dark  archway,  and 
we  all  rode  into  it.  It  was  a  long  cavern  in  the  plat¬ 
form,  built  of  immense  stone,  arched  overhead,  and  as 
we  rode  into  it  two  or  three  hundred  feet,  the  busts 
of  men  looked  down  on  us  from  the  dimly-lighted  vaults, 
as  if  in  wonder  at  this  strange  entrance  of  horsemen  to 
their  silent  abodes. 

Returning,  we  continued  around  the  temple,  taking  the 
wall  of  some  fellah’s  garden  at  a  flying  leap  on  the  north¬ 
west  corner,  and  so  coming  down  by  the  other  side,  where 
we  saw  and  were  astounded  by  the  great  stones  which 
have  been  so  frequently  described.  I  had  been  long 
familiar  with  Egyptian  grandeur,  but  I  confessed  at  once 
that  Egypt  knew  nothing  to  compare  with  these.  Re¬ 
turning  at  length  to  the  place  at  which  we  had  entered 
the  village,  I  attempted  to  mount  the  fallen  columns  and 
massive  stones,  which  lay  heaped  up  on  the  eastern  side  of 


ANCIENT  HELIOPOLIS. 


459 


the  inclosure,  and  gain  access  to  the  temple  platform  it¬ 
self.  In  this  I  succeeded.  The  horse  Mohammed  would 
go  into  the  second  floor  window  of  a  New  York  house, 
if  I  rode  him  at  it  seriously.  He  leaped  from  stone  to 
stone  like  a  cat,  and  climbed  up  forty  feet  of  debris  that 
I  could  with  great  difficulty  have  accomplished  myself. 
I  found  a  better  path  down,  but  not  practicable  for  the 
loaded  mules;  and  accordingly  I  directed  the  men  to 
pitch  the  tents  under  the  eastern  colonnade  of  the  great 
temple. 

Certainly  I  could  not  have  desired  a  spot  more  pic¬ 
turesque.  A  stream  of  clear  water  ran  close  behind  us, 
and  when  the  moon  rose,  late  at  night,  and  shone  on  the 
grand  columns  of  the  temple  and  its  gray  old  walls,  the 
scene  was  sufficiently  grand. 

I  shall  not  attempt  to  sketch  the  supposed  history  of 
Heliopolis.  That  it  was  a  city  of  early  Phenician  origin 
I  think  may  be  taken  for  granted,  from  the  name  Baalbec, 
and  that  it  was  greatly  beautified,  in  the  days  of  the  Ro¬ 
man  emperors,  may  be  inferred  from  the  present  magnifi- 
.  cent  ruins  that  are  evidently  of  that  period.  Thus  much 
we  may  safely  affirm,  but  more  than  this  must  be  con¬ 
jecture. 

If  the  reader  will  bear  with  me  a  little,  I  will  endeavor 
to  give  him  such  a  description  of  the  ruins  as  will  enable 
him  to  form  some  idea  of  their  magnitude,  and  conjecture, 
almost  as  well  as  those  who  have  visited  them,  the  name 
and  character  of  their  founders. 

The  site  of  these  ruins  was  originally  a  plain,  extending 
miles  to  the  north  and  to  the  south.  They  are  situated  a 
half  a  mile  from  the  eastern  side  of  the  valley. 

On  this  plain  a  platform  has  been  elevated,  by  building 
a  sustaining  wall  of  immense  stone,  and  arched  galleries 
or  passages,  as  well  as  arched  chambers,  on  which  earth 
has  been  heaped  and  leveled.  The  platform  thus  erected 


460 


IMMENSE  STONES. 


is  of  irregular  shape,  one  part  in  the  main  being  a  large 
rectangular  parcel,  and  another  hexagonal,  extending 
north-eastward  from  the  first,  and  yet  another  rectan- 
gular  piece  against  this.  The  height  of  the  upper  level  of 
the  platform  from  the  plain  may  be  thirty  feet,  sufficient 
to  command  a  view  limited  only  by  the  distant  mountains 
of  Lebanon. 

On  this  platform  were  erected  numerous  splendid  tem¬ 
ples,  courts,  chapels,  altars,  and  places  of  study  and  of 
prayer.  In  the  days  of  its  glory  it  can  hardly  be  doubted 
that  it  was,  with  one  exception,  the  most  magnificent 
temple  in  the  world.  Not,  indeed,  so  massive,  grand, 
and  imposing  as  Karnak,  but  in  its  airy  beauty,  the  rich¬ 
ness  of  its  Corinthian  columns,  the  splendor  of  its  high 
cornices  and  friezes,  and  the  light  heaven-aspiring  char¬ 
acter  of  all  its  architecture,  it  must  have  been  the  most 
brilliant  and  beautiful  of  all  the  places  of  heathen  worship. 

Commencing  our  view  with  the  outside  of  the  platform 
wall,  at  the  south-west  corner,  we  find  the  great  stones 
which  form  the  most  celebrated  feature  of  Baalbec. 

Of  these  there  are  just  twenty,  and  as  I  have  seen  hith¬ 
erto  no  full  and  accurate  account  of  these  stones,  although 
many  imperfect  and  inaccurate  have  been  published,  I 
shall  not  apologize  for  stopping  to  describe  them. 

Though  they  are  but  twenty  very  rough  stones,  they 
are,  nevertheless,  among  the  most  interesting  relics  of  an¬ 
tiquity  in  the  world. 

They  are  in  two  rows,  one  on  the  south  side  of  the  great 
platform,  and  the  other  on  the  west  (west  side  and  north, 
as  they  are  sometimes  called). 

Commencing  with  the  row  on  the  west  side,  and  going 
southward,  I  found  ten  stones,  measuring  in  order  as  fol¬ 
lows  (the  first  one  is  comparatively  small,  and  I  have  lost 
the  measurement) :  the  next,  30  feet,  then  31,  30.6,  30.6, 
32,  30.6,  30,  32.4,  30.6. 


IMMENSE  STONES. 


461 


Each  stone  is  thirteen  feet  high,  and  ten  feet  six  inches 
thick.  The  thickness  varies  an  inch  or  two. 

This  wall  stands  alone,  and  has  never  been  carried 
up.  There  is  no  structure  on  it,  but  the  stones  are  gray 
and  time-worn.  A  doorway  has  been  cut  through  one  of 
these  stones,  which  admitted  me  to  the  space  between  it 
and  the  sustaining  wall  of  the  platform,  which  is  built  of 
beveled  stone.  This  space  is  grass-grown  and  level,  and 
from  it  I  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  wall  of  large  stones. 
They  were  smoothly  cut,  fitting  exactly  against  each 
other,  but  at  the  point  of  the  junction  of  each  two  stones, 
they  were  notched  on  the  front  in  a  peculiar  manner,  and 
for  purposes  which  I  shall  hereafter  mention.  The  notch 
was  about  four  feet  long  up  and  down  the  line  of  junction, 
about  a  foot  wide  and  eight  inches  deep  at  the  top,  run¬ 
ning  to  a  point,  and  out  to  the  edge  of  the  stones  at  the 
bottom  of  the  notch. 

This  row  of  stones  continues  to  the  south-west  corner 
of  the  platform,  which,  by  a  rough  wall,  is  projected  so  as 
to  rest  on  the  corner-stone  and  the  next  one  to  it,  and  on 
these  a  high  sustaining  wall  is  built.  The  height  on  this 
corner  of  the  whole  platform  must  be  about  forty  feet. 
The  corner-stone  in  continuation  of  this  wall,  is  of  the 
same  class  as  the  others,  but  not  so  large.  It  is  about 
thirteen  feet  each  way.  But  after  turning  the  corner,  we 
find  that  this  stone  projects  about  two  feet  beyond  the 
line  of  the  wall  above  it,  and  is  beveled  or  worked  off  to 
the  face  of  that  wall.  Then  follow  six  stones,  precisely 
similar  to  those  we  have  described,  whose  entire  length  is 
189  feet.  But  these  also  project,  as  does  the  corner¬ 
stone,  and  are  worked  off  from  about  four  feet  below  their 
upper  sides  to  the  line  of  the  wall  above  it,  instead  of 
having  a  perpendicular  face  with  the  peculiar  notches  I 
have  described  in  the  others. 

But  the  wall  above  these  last  six  stones  is  the  wonder 


462 


IMMENSE  STONES. 


of  Baalbec  and  the  world.  It  consists  of  three  stones, 
exactly  covering  the  six  below  them.  Their  length  is 
therefore  one  hundred  and  eighty-nine  feet,  and  I  meas¬ 
ured  them  three  times  without  being  able  to  detect  a  dif¬ 
ference  in  them,  though  there  may  be  an  inch  or  two  as 
described  by  others.  The  height  of  these  stones,  on  the 
face,  is  thirteen  feet,  just  that  of  the  stones  on  which  they 
rest,  and  the  depth  must  be  guessed  at.  In  the  plans  of 
Casas,  which  I  have  before  me,  it  is  given  at  sixteen  feet 
four  inches  (French  of  course),  and  it  may  be  fairly  esti¬ 
mated  at  fifteen  feet. 

It  is  true  that  on  these  stones  the  wall  of  the  platform 
is  continued  up.  But  that  wall  has  manifestly  nothing  to 
do  with  the  original  design  of  the  layers  of  this  cyclopean 
structure.  There  is  nothing  else  in  or  around  Baalbec 
which  bears  any  relation  or  resemblance  to  these  stones, 
or  indicates  the  existence  of  the  same  grandeur  of  design 
and  power  of  execution. 

I  say  there  is  nothing  like  it  in  or  around  Baalbec.  I 
am  wrong.  In  the  quarry,  a  half  mile  from  here,  lies  a 
stone  sixty-eight  feet  some  inches  long,  seventeen  wide, 
and  fourteen  feet  six  inches  in  thickness.  The  end  of  this 
has  not  been  trimmed  off.  This  done,  would  reduce  it 
probably  to  the  average  length  of  the  three  now  in  posi¬ 
tion. 

There  can  be  no  doubt,  it  seems  to  me,  that  this  stone 
was  to  be  placed  in  position  on  the  wall  at  the  western 
side,  in  continuation  of  the  three  on  the  south,  connected 
with  them  by  a  corner-stone.  The  notches  I  have  spoken 
of,  were  the  commencement  of  the  working  down  of  the 
upper  part  of  these  stones,  which  were  left  solid  until  the 
large  stones  were  in  position  on  them,  when  they  were 
to  be  sloped  up  to  them,  as  I  have  described  those  under 
the  three  great  stones. 

But  I  apprehend  no  one  can  see  any  indication  that  the 


« 


THE  STRUCTURES.  463 

other  works  of  Baalbec  are  of  the  same  age,  or  by  the 
same  persons  with  these  gigantic  rocks.  The  contrast 
between  them  and  the  Roman  wall  above,  is  greater  than 
between  the  Roman  and  the  later  Saracen  walls  laid  upon 
them  when  Baalbec  was  made  a  fortress. 

Who,  then,  built  these  two  walls?  Who  cut  these 
twenty  stones — sole  memorials  of  a  work  that  was  mag¬ 
nificent  in  its  design  beyond  any  other  work  on  the  face 
of  the  earth,  but  abandoned  in  its  very  commencement  ? 

I  have  no  doubt  that  they  are  of  an  age  long  preceding 
the  Roman  Empire,  an  age  of  giant  thoughts,  such  as 
planned  the  Pyramids,  or  the  mighty  columns  and  archi¬ 
tecture  of  Karnak.  The  Romans  found  them  here,  the 
evidence  of  an  unknown  race  and  a  forgotten  power,  and 
on  them  built  their  gorgeous  temples.  Storms  beat  on 
the  airy  structures  of  the  Romans,  and  they  stood  firm 
and  bright  in  the  succeeding  sunshine.  But  earthquakes 
came  and  shook  them  down,  and  the  works  of  the  giants 
laughed  at  the  earthquakes,  and  stood  firm  while  shat¬ 
tered  capitals  and  architraves  were  rained  down  on  and 
around  them. 

In  building  their  platform,  the  Romans,  or  whoever 
continued  the  works  at  Baalbec,  used  the  south  wall,  but 
preferred  not  to  use  the  western,  leaving  it  exposed,  and, 
apparently,  useless,  running  their  wall  about  twenty  feet 
inside  of  it.  This  wall  is  of  beveled  stone,  and  may  be 
of  more  ancient  date  than  the  Roman  temples.  Of  this 
it  is  impossible,  at  present,  to  affirm  any  thing.  I  confess 
that  my  subsequent  examination  of  the  galleries  and 
chambers  under  the  platform,  led  me  to  think  that  the 
immediate  predecessors  of  the  Romans  were  men  of  in¬ 
termediate  power,  more  like  the  hewers  of  the  twenty 
stones,  but  not  nearly  so  great  in  their  ideas. 

On  the  highest  part  of  the  platform,  in  the  south-west 
corner  of  it,  stood  a  grand  temple,  of  which  only  six 


464 


RUINS  OF  BAALBEC. 


columns,  supporting  part  of  the  architecture,  now  remain. 
These  columns  are  each  seven  feet  six  inches  in  diameter, 
at  the  base,  and  are  alone  left  of  seventy  that  formed  the 
peristyle  of  a  temple  of  the  most  elegant  Corinthian 
style.  They  are  visible  throughout  the  extent  of  the 
plain  of  Baalbec,  over  which  the  temple  must  have  shone 
with  great  brilliancy.  The  floor  of  this  temple  appears  to 
have  been  terraced  up  toward  the  south  side,  as  it  as¬ 
cends  in  that  direction,  and  the  pavement  remains.  It 
is  a  remarkable  fact  that,  under  the  temple,  the  platform 
has,  so  far  as  now  known,  no  chambers  or  galleries.  An 
excavation  would,  doubtless,  open  interesting  rooms.  I 
tried  various  methods  of  obtaining  access,  but  all  in  vain, 
though  I  am  satisfied  that  such  exist,  and,  doubtless,  judg¬ 
ing  from  such  as  I  found  elsewhere,  of  great  splendor. 

In  front  of  this  temple  was  a  large  quadrangular  court, 
surrounded  by  exquisite  little  semicircular  temples,  all 
gorgeously  carved  in  florid  Corinthian,  and  each  having 
five  dead  windows  or  recesses  for  statues,  and  small  semi¬ 
circular  seats  or  niches  under  them.  The  latter  are 
strangely  and  beautifully  carved ;  one  has  an  eagle  among 
stars  forming  the  top,  another  a  winged  globe,  many  had 
scallop-shells,  beautifully  cut. 

This  quadrangle  was  filled  with  various  buildings,  of 
which  the  ruins  lie  in  it.  It  opens  into  a  hexagonal  court 
also  surrounded  with  niches  for  statues,  and  this  into  a 
grand  portico,  flanked  by  two  square  towers,  of  which 
the  ancient  form  is  totally  lost  by  the  Saracen  changes. 
I  presume  that  the  grand  steps  to  the  temple  led  up 
from  the  plain  here,  but  they  are  now  gone,  nor  is  there 
any  trace  of  them. 

Returning  to  the  great  temple,  and  descending  to  a  lower 
level  of  the  platform,  on  the  east,  we  came  to  the  great 
Temple  of  the  Sun,  the  walls  of  which  are  still  standing. 

It  had  a  peristyle  of  thirty-six  columns,  plain  shafts 


TEMPLE  OF  THE  SUN. 


465 


with  elegant  Corinthian  capitals,  and  four  inner  columns 
fluted,  making  forty  in  all.  These  are  mostly  fallen  and 
broken  to  pieces,  but  on  the  north-west  side  nine  remain 
standing,  and  support  the  ceiling  of  the  peristyle.  This 
ceiling  is  composed  of  immense  stones,  elaborately  carved 
in  compartments,  with  fruits,  flowers,  and  busts  of  gods 
and  goddesses.  Entering  the  temple  by  a  hole  in  the 
Saracen  wall  that  closes  it,  we  find  a  grand  doorway 
which  was  square,  the  top  being  trilithic,  two  stones  rest¬ 
ing  on  the  pilasters  or  side  posts,  the  middle  one  keyed 
in  between  these.  This  middle  stone  has  been  shaken 
from  its  position,  and  the  outer  two,  opening  a  little, 
have  let  it  slip  down,  but  it  is  caught  by  the  width  of  its 
upper  part,  and  thus  hangs,  threatening  destruction  to 
whoever  passes  under  it.  '  On  the  under  side  of  this 
stone  is  carved  an  eagle,  whose  wings,  or  the  tips  of 
them,  are  left  on  the  other  stones.  The  tips  touch  two 
cupids,  one  of  which  scaled  off  when  the  eagle  fell.  The 
other  was  battered  by  the  early  Christians,  whose  Van- 
dalish  propensities  are  so  noticeable  in  Egyptian  temples. 
The  eagle’s  bill  holds  a  wreath  and  bundle  of  flowers. 
Within,  the  temple  is  battered  and  bruised,  and  defaced 
with  the  names  of  hundreds  of  modern  travelers.  Still 
it  is  gorgeous,  and  was  glorious.  The  carving  of  the  oak- 
leaves  and  acorns,  of  the  delicate  bead-work,  and  of  the 
intricate  and  innumerable  patterns  and  ornaments,  sur¬ 
passes  all  the  work  in  stone  that  I  have  seen  elsewhere. 
Wreaths,  festoons,  and  garlands  are  wrought  all  over  the 
walls  with  the  utmost  skill  and  taste. 

On  the  east  side  of  this  temple  there  are  yet  standing 
four  of  the  columns  which  support  a  very  perfect  speci¬ 
men  of  the  frieze,  but  no  description  can  convey  an  idea 
of  the  elaborate  nature  of  it.  Bulls’  and  lions’  heads 
alternate  with  oak  leaves  and  grapes,  and  various  other 
patterns. 


20* 


46  0 


UNDER  THE  PLATFORM. 


The  top  of  this  architrave  is  disfigured  by  a  rude 
stone  wall,  piled  on  it  by  the  Saracens,  the  object  of 
which  I  am  at  a  loss  to  guess  at. 

There  are  many  other  ruins  of  buildings  on  the  great 
platform  and  connected  with  it,  but  I  pass  from  them  to 
the  vaults  below.  I  postponed  an  examination  of  these 
until  the  third  day  of  our  visit,  having  devoted  a  part  of 
the  previous  day  to  finding  an  entrance  under  the  great 
temple,  which  I  have  already  stated  was  without  result. 

There  are  three  great  galleries  under  the  platform. 
Two  running  from  north  to  south,  and  one  connecting 
these  two.  Besides  these,  there  are  a  large  number  of 
chambers,  all  built  in  the  same  massive  style.  The  lower 
rows  of  stone  are  very  large — much  larger  than  any  thing 
seen  in  the  Roman  structures  above  ground.  The  arches 
are,  in  many  cases,  evidently  built  on  a  plan  quite  differ¬ 
ent  from  that  which  was  adopted  in  laying  these  stones. 

The  only  room  of  special  beauty  to  which  I  obtained 
access  appeared  never  to  have  been  visited  before  by  any 
traveler.  Walking  up  the  eastern  gallery  I  observed  a 
sort  of  window,  into  which  I  mounted  by  Whitely’s 
shoulders.  It  was  all  dark.  I  lighted  a  piece  of  paper 
with  a  match  and  threw  it  in.  It  fell  ten  feet,  and 
showed  me  a  hard  floor  for  an  instant,  on  which  I 
jumped,  without  stopping  to  calculate  how  I  should  get 
back  again. 

I  lit  a  candle,  and  found  on  the  ground  a  considerable 
quantity  of  straws,  blown  in  through  the  hole  at  which  I 
had  entered.  Gathering  these  together,  I  called  Whitely 
and  Moreright  to  come  in.  They  came  as  I  had,  helping 
each  other.  Then  I  touched  my  candle  to  the  pile,  and 
it  flashed  up  brilliantly,  long  enough  to  show  us  a  lofty 
square  chamber  with  arched  ceiling  elaborately  carved, 
in  the  style  of  the  ceiling  of  the  peristyle  of  the  Temple 
of  the  Sun.  There  were  places  for  statues  on  the  side 


INSCRIPTIONS. 


467 


walls,  and  a  doorway  that  once  opened  out  to  the  outer 
ground,  but  now  closed  with  large  stone,  probably  in 
Saracen  times.  Thus  much  I  saw,  and  the  fire  vanished. 
We  helped  each  other  out,  and  walked  up  and  down 
these  vast  subterranean  halls  for  nearly  two  hours  before 
we  were  called  away. 

The  eastern  gallery  opened  up  at  its  extremity,  di¬ 
rectly  into  the  platform  near  the  smaller  temple,  and 
appears  to  have  been  used  for  processions.  Frequent 
busts  appear  in  the  key-stones  of  the  arch,  but  all  of 
them  are  so  much  defaced  as  to  be  unrecognizable. 

I  have  not  pretended  to  give  a  full  account  of  the 
Roman  ruins  in  Baalbec.  Enough  is  accomplished  if  I 
have  given  the  reader  a  general  idea  of  their  grandeur 
and  extent. 

Inscriptions  have  been  diligently  looked  for  at  Baal¬ 
bec,  and  two  were  found  on  the  pedestals  of  columns  in 
the  front  of  the  smaller  temple.  I  could  not  find  them, 
and  presume  they  are  now  lost.  They  are  said  to  have 
been  as  follows ; 

1.  MAGNIS  DIIS  HELIUPOLITANIS  PRO  SALUTE  ANTO- 
NINI  PII  FELICIS  AUGUSTI  ET  JULI^E  AUGUSTUS  MA- 
TRIS  DOMINI  NOSTRI  CASTRORUM  SENATUS  PATRICE 
*  *  *  COLUMNARUM  DUM  ERANT  IN  MURO  IN  LUMI- 
NATA  SUA  PECUNIA  EX  YOTO  LIBENTI  ANIMO  SOLYIT. 

2,  MAGNIS  DIIS  HELIUPOLITANIS  *  *  *  ORIIS  DOM¬ 
INI  NOSTRI  ANTONINI  PII  FELICIS  AUGUSTI  ET  JULLE 
AUGUSTS  MATRIS  DOMINI  NOSTRI  CASTRORUM  *  *  * 
NTONIANiE  CAPITA  COLUMNARUM  DUM  ERANT  IN  MURO 
INLUMINATA  SUA  PECUNIA  *  *  * 

I  give  these  as  Dr.  Robinson  copies  them  from  Wood 
and  Dawkins, 

I,  however,  found  the  remains  of  two  Greek  inscrip¬ 
tions  in  one  of  the  small  chapels  or  oratories  on  the  west 
side  of  the  great  quadrangle,  which  I  think  have  escaped 


468 


INSCRIPTIONS. 


observation.  They  were  on  projecting  sills  or  slabs, 
which  did  not  mark  the  statues,  but  rather  appeared 
to  mark  the  seats  of  priests  or  teachers,  but  so  little 
remains  of  them,  that  much  must  be  left  to  conjecture  4n 
determining  their  meaning. 

I  give  them  with  the  letters  in  position  as  I  found 
them,  marking  the  ends  of  the  line  as  the  ends  of  the 
stone.  There  was  but  one  line  possible  on  each  stone. 

1.  |0  nOEI  NELUI  | 

2.  |  T  OT  OL  ANAA  | 

And  these  are  all  the  records,  in  characters  known  to 
men,  that  are  left  on  earth  of  the  might  and  majesty  of 
Baalbec. 


3L 

Jbe  of  J.&hi |iior). 


The  afternoon  and  evening  of  our  arrival  at  Baalbec 
were  devoted  to  strolling  around  among  the  ruins,  catch¬ 
ing  here  and  there  views  of  peculiar  beauty,  resting  on 
fallen  columns  or  broken  capitals,  and  losing  ourselves  in 
the  wilderness  of  ruins.  In  the  starlight  the  four  col¬ 
umns  above  our  tents  towered  in  the  dark  air  with  awful 
grandeur ;  and  later,  when  the  moon  was  up,  the  scene 
was  only  equaled  by  moonlight  on  old  Thebes. 

The  next  afternoon  Miriam  held  a  levee  in  her  tent. 
The  inhabitants  of  Baalbec  are  chiefly  Christian  and  Me- 
taw-Ali  (followers  of  the  false  proj)het  Ali,  Mohammedan 
heretics).  Two  or  three  of  the  little  girls  who  wandered 
down  to  the  tents  from  the  village  reported  the  kind 
reception  they  met  with  from  the  Frank  lady,  and  a  half- 
dozen  neatly-dressed  girls  of  thirteen  and  fourteen  came 
down  to  see  her.  These  were  followed  by  six  girls  of  rare 
beauty.  You  might  search  a  long  while  and  not  find 
in  any  land  six  such  beautiful  daughters  of  Eve  in  one 
small  village.  They  were  all  alike  in  their  tall,  lithe 
forms,  the  soul  of  grace,  with  that  soft  languor  which  is 
esteemed  perfection  of  beauty  in  the  East.  Their  faces 
were  of  different  moulds.  One,  Warda  (Rose)  by  name, 
was  of  exceedingly  proud  and  queenly  countenance.  Her 
eye  was  black  and  fine,  her  complexion  white  and  clear, 


470 


ROSE  AND  SPZAIN. 


her  features  straight  and  regular,  her  eyebrows  arched 
and  black ;  lips,  rich  and  red  as  the  flower  whose  name 
she  bore  ;  teeth  like  pearls,  and  a  chin  that  made  a  sus¬ 
ceptible  man  like  Whitley  positively  crazy  when  he  re¬ 
membered  it.  The  namesake  of  Miriam  was  a  soft  and 
languid  beauty,  with  an  eye  that  said  little,  but  looked  as 
if  it  might  be  roused  to  anger  at  a  word.  Suzain  was 
like  Warda,  but  had  red  cheeks  and  laughing  eyes,  and 
an  arm  that  was  rounded  in  the  form  of  Cleopatra’s.  Alila 
was  a  pale  girl,  of  marble  beauty,  that  expressed  no  inter¬ 
est  in  the  strangers  other  than  cold  curiosity ;  but  the 
fifth  was  a  laughing,  rattling  coquette,  full  of  the  devil, 
and  willing  to  evince  it  constantly. 

One  of  the  younger  party  who  had  preceded  them 
having  gone  home,  told  her  mother  of  Miriam’s  recep¬ 
tion  of  her  :  the  latter  returned  with  her  daughter,  on  an 
odd  errand,  and  found  the  group  of  beauties  on  the  car¬ 
pets  in  the  middle  of  the  tent,  laughing  gayly  and  chatting 
with  their  hostess  as  if  they  had  known  her  all  their 
lives ;  for  she  had  picked  up  enough  of  Arabic  to  sustain 
such  a  conversation. 

The  mother  had  heard  of  the  glory  of  the  Franks,  and 
wished  to  see  if  there  was  a  chance  of  getting  a  Frank 
husband  for  her  girl,  a  black-eyed,  laughing  child  of  fifteen. 

Here  was  a  chance  for  Whitely  and  Moreright,  and 
Miriam  sent  for  them  instantly.  We  were  all  up 
among  the  ruins  when  Ferrajj  came  with  her  message, 
and  went  down  to  the  tents,  much  wondering  what  we 
were  sent  for,  but  nothing  disappointed  when  we  saw  the 
group  of  beautiful  girls  on  the  floor  of  the  tent,  whose 
eyes  flashed  laughingly  on  us  as  we  entered.  Miriam 
stated  the  lady’s  proposal,  but  Whitely  not  only  intimated 
by  his  looks,  but  distinctly  affirmed,  that  such  a  proposi¬ 
tion  from  Warda  would  receive  much  more  serious  con¬ 
sideration. 


MARRYING  FOR  LOVE. 


471 


I  have  never  seen  more  graceful  or  relined  young 
ladies  than  these  five  appeared  to  be.  It  is  true  they  sat 
on  the  carpets,  but  that  was  their  custom ;  and  they  wore 
trowsers,  but  that  was  not  because  they  were  strong- 
minded  women.  They  talked  unblushingly  with  strang¬ 
ers  about  marrying  them,  because  that  is  the  sole  end  of 
a  young  woman’s  life  in  the  East. 

Alila  was  engaged  to  be  married,  and  took  no  interest 
in  the  conversation.  The  others  joined  in  it,  and  talked 
as  pleasantly,  gayly,  and  gracefully  as  refined,  educated 
ladies  would  be  expected  at  home  to  converse  on  indiffer¬ 
ent  subjects.  This  was  the  more  remarkable  as  they  were 
not  children  of  the  wealthiest  classes,  although  their 
parents  were  jiersons  of  character  and  comfortable  prop¬ 
erty. 

Warda  looked  up  at  Whitely  with  her  large,  black 
eyes  fixed  full  on  his  face,  and  he  actually  blushed  at  be¬ 
ing  so  fixedly  stared  at  by  so  beautiful  a  woman  of  nine¬ 
teen,  and  marriageable  at  that. 

“I  don’t  think  he  can  be  serious,”  she  said  at  length, 
very  quietly. 

“Why  not,  Lady  Rose?”  (Sitt  Warda),  I  asked. 

“Because  I  have  heard  that  the  Franks  marry  for 
love ;  and  he  has  not  known  me  long  enough  to  love 
me.” 

“  Do  you  never  marry  for  love  ?” 

“  How  can  we  ?  We  marry  when  our  parents  get  us 
husbands.  We  have  nothing  to  do  with  it  ourselves. 
Alila  don’t  know  what  sort  of  a  man  her  husband  is.  He 
lives  at  Maalakha,  She  never  saw  him.” 

“  Are  you  happy,  Lady  Alila?” 

“  I — yes.  Why  not  ?” 

I  give  the  reply  of  Warda  in,  as  near  as  I  can  recollect, 
her  very  words.  It  is  a  singular  instance  of  an  expression 
on  the  part  of  an  eastern  lady,  of  some  discontent  at 


472 


S  AL  AH-e’dEEN. 

the  custom  of  her  fathers  in  the  manner  of  disposing  of 
her  hand. 

“I  wish  I  had  a  name  like  Miriam  or  Warda,  that 
could  he  turned  into  English,”  said  the  rosy-cheeked  co¬ 
quette,  with  a  naivete  that  was  very  amusing.  She  did 
not  like  the  admiration  that  the  queenly  Rose  was  at¬ 
tracting.  But,  like  it  or  not,  it  was  a  necessity. 

“  Do  you  think,  if  I  should  stay  here  long  enough  to 
know  you,  that  you  would  love  me  ?” 

She  looked  up  into  Whitely’s  eyes  again  and  said, 
quietly  and  calmly,  “  I  wish  you  would  try  it.” 

Ah,  maiden — white  rose  of  the  valley  of  Lebanon — it 
is  sorrowful  to  think  of  your  melancholy  life,  your  wither¬ 
ing  heart.  Could  one  but  bring  you  to  a  land  of  warm 
hearts,  a  land  where  the  majesty  and  glory  of  woman’s 
beauty  and  purity  is  triumphant,  you  would  make  a  queen 
among  women,  and  would  learn  the  value  of  your  own 
gentle  soul.  But  all  that  beauty,  and  gentleness,  and  in¬ 
nate  pride  is  to  be  the  toy  of  a  passing  hour,  and  then 
follows  the  drudgery  of  woman’s  miserable  life,  to  be  a 
bearer  of  children  and  carrier  of  water — for  long,  cold 
years — and  then  death  and  oblivion.  I  shudder  when  I 
think  of  the  fate  of  those  six  brilliant  girls. 

Toward  evening  we  walked  up  to  the  Mosk  of  Salah- 
e’deen,  in  the  village  north  of  the  temples.  Before  reach¬ 
ing  it  we  passed  a  ruined  circular  temple,  of  elaborate 
Corinthian  architecture,  which  stood  together  on  so  fee¬ 
ble  a  tenure,  that  I  have  little  doubt  that  the  recent 
earthquake  in  the  Levant  will  have  overthrown  it. 

In  the  Mosk  of  Salah-e’deen  is  a  grave,  in  the  ordinary 
Turkish  style,  standing  among  a  forest  of  columns  that 
support  the  walls  of  this  place  of  prayer,  where  tradition 
and  a  tablet  say  that  the  mighty  foe  and  friend  of  Richard 
of  the  Lion  Heart  lies  sleeping  that  deep  sleep  that  falls 
on  all  alike.  I  know  of  nothing  to  falsify  the  tradition. 


MORALIZING. 


473 


Here  rests  a  great  man.  The  age  has  come  in  which 
justice  can  he  done  to  his  memory.  I  could  not  stand 
among  those  columns  by  that  simple,  unadorned  tomb, 
and  fail  to  hear  the  noise  of  the  battle  around  the  gates 
of  Jaffa,  or  the  last  wail  on  the  plain  of  Hattin  when  the 
Holy  Cross  went  down. 

The  mosk  itself  is  a  most  barbarian  structure,  built  of 
the  columns  of  ancient  Baalbec,  without  reference  to  size, 
shape,  or  uniformity  of  capitals.  Two  fine  porphyry 
columns  lie  on  the  ground,  broken  to  pieces,  and  I  have 
seen  in  St.  Sophia,  at  Constantinople,  other  very  fine  por¬ 
phyry  columns,  said  to  be  from  Baalbec.  The  mosk  is 
about  120  feet  by  200,  half  an  open  court,  and  the  other 
half  arched  cloisters,  built  on  three  columns.  The  tomb 
of  Salah-e’deen  is  near  the  north-east  corner  of  the  clois¬ 
ters.  An  oil  lamp  was  burning  near  it,  kept  there  by 
some  Moslem  devotee. 

We  strolled  about  the  town  and  among  the  ruins  until 
the  sun  went  down  over  the  hills  of  Lebanon,  leaving  a 
crimson  glow  on  the  eastern  summit,  and  giving  a  new 
and  more  beautiful  light  than  we  had  yet  seen  to  the 
ruins  around  us.  Here,  were  one  disposed  to  moralize, 
was  the  place  for  it.  Here  were  temples,  of  which  no 
man  could  name  with  certainty  even  the  god  to  whom 
they  were  dedicated ;  here  were  shrines,  that  were  visit¬ 
ed  by  myriads  of  men  and  women,  old  and  young — 
born  even  as  we,  dead  even  as  we  must  die — who  lived, 
and  moved,  and  talked,  and  thought,  and  ate,  and  drank, 
and  slept,  and  perished,  even  as  we  must  do,  and  their 
names  are  erased  from  the  rolls  of  time. 

But  I  confess  that  I  did  not  so  much  moralize  as  I  did 
speculate,  and  this  was  the  result  of  my  speculations. 
That  the  twenty  great  stones  seem  to  have  been  hewn 
and  placed  where  they  were  by  some  one  who  had  heard 
of,  or  seen  the  grandeur  of  Egypt,  and  desired  to  surpass 


474 


WARD  A,  THE  ROSE. 


it.  Such  a  person  might  have  been  Solomon,  the  son  of 
David,  and  son-in-law  of  a  Pharaoh  of  Egypt. 

That  the  next  builders  had  seen  the  glory  of  Solomon’s 
temple,  had  admired  its  lofty  situation  on  the  hill  of  Mo¬ 
riah,  and  had  knowledge  of  its  subterranean  supports.  In 
pursuance  of  ideas  thus  derived,  they  commenced,  and 
perhaps  completed  the  erection  of  a  platform,  with  such 
crypts  and  galleries  as  we  have  described,  and  perhaps 
built  on  it  some  form  of  temple. 

That  in  later  times  the  Romans  extended  this  plat¬ 
form  and  the  galleries  under  it,  built  great  chambers 
below  and  greater  temples  above ;  and  last  of  all,  Time 
and  earthquakes  shook  them  thundering  down. 

And  all  this  is  mere  conjecture — guess-work — nothing 
more. 

I  wandered  up  and  down  the  ruins,  pondering  on  these 
things  till  my  brain  was  weary.  Then  I  said,  “  Let  the 
dead  bury  their  dead,”  and  returned  to  the  tents,  where 
I  found  Miriam  in  close  conversation  with  the  beautiful 
Warda  and  the  gay  Suzain,  and  I  welcomed  the  bright 
faces  of  the  three,  as  pleasant  contrasts  to  the  gloomy  old 
forms  that  had  haunted  me  for  hours  before. 

So  ended  the  second  day  at  Baalbec. 


32. 

Jl)6  SfoHH). 


At  first  we  decided  that  we  would  go,  and  then  that 
we  would  not,  and  so  we  passed  the  early  morning  hours 
among  the  ruins.  The  weather  was  threatening,  but  still 
it  did  not  rain,  and,  at  last,  we  broke  up  the  camp,  sent 
the  tents  and  baggage  on  to  Zahleh,  and  rode  down  to 
the  quarries,  where  we  examined  the  remaining  large 
stones.  There  is  one  very  large  one,  and  several  others, 
of  the  inferior  'or  second  size  which  I  have  described,  lie 
around  it. 

Then  we  rode  on,  down  the  plain,  toward  a  structure 
which,  at  a  distance,  had  presented  the  appearance  of  a 
small  ruined  temple.  It  proved  to  be  a  Mohammedan 
tumular  structure,  consisting  of  eight  granite  columns, 
taken  from  old  temples,  some  of  them  placed  upside  down, 
supporting  a  circular  architrave. 

We  examined  it,  without  dismounting,  and  then  rode 
on.  But  the  storm  now  burst  on  us  with  fury.  At  the 
very  first  dash  of  the  sharp  rain-drops  the  horses  wheeled 
their  backs  to  it,  and  we  bowed  our  heads  while  it  swept 
over  us.  It  was  a  pitiless  rain-storm — cold  as  a  Labrador 
breeze,  and  perfectly  blinding,  when  we  attempted  to 
face  it. 

“  Interesting  view  of  Baalbec — hey,  Whitely  ?” 

In  spite  of  the  seriousness  of  the  thing  we  shouted 
with  laughter,  at  the  appearance  we  presented,  four  in  a 


476 


HOSPITABLE  NATIVES. 


row,  back  to  the  wind,  and  faces  to  Baalbec,  motionless, 
as  if  taking  a  last  look  of  the  ruins. 

But  it  was  no  laughing  matter.  The  tents  had  gone 
on  long  ago,  and  it  remained  only  to  see  if  we  could  over¬ 
take  them,  before  the  ground  became  too  hopelessly 
soaked  to  allow  of  our  pitching  on  the  plain.  As  soon  as 
there  was  a  lull  in  the  first  blast,  we  faced  it  and  pushed 
on. 

The  recollection  of  that  day  is  like  the  memory  of  a 
bad  dream.  I  can  not,  at  this  distance,  realize  that  its 
occurrences  did  actually  take  place,  and  that  we,  and  es¬ 
pecially  Miriam,  survived  it.  The  rain  increased  in 
violence  and  was  mingled  with  sleet,  which  cut  our  faces 
wherever  they  were  exposed.  Our  water-proof  clothing 
was  good  protection  for  a  few  hours,  but,  at  length, 
streams  trickled  down  our  faces  and  into  our  necks,  and 
we  became  thoroughly  and  irretrievably  soaked  and 
drowned.  Then  we  grew  sullen  and  silent,  and,  at  last, 
seeing  a  group  of  low  mud  huts  on  the  plain,  we  shouted 
all  at  once,  and  made  a  stampede  for  them. 

We  threw  ourselves  off  at  the  first  door,  and  rushed 
into  the  dark  hut.  A  palace  would  not  have  been  more 
welcome,  nor  could  a  palace  have  given  us  a  warmer  re¬ 
ception.  They  helped  us  off  with  our  clothes,  they 
kindled  a  blazing  fire  on  the  little  fire-place,  in  the  very 
middle  of  the  floor,  they  made  hot  coffee  and  gave  it 
to  us,  rich  and  reviving,  and  when  we  were  warm,  and 
dry,  and  grateful,  they  didn’t  ask  for  bucksheesh,  and  re¬ 
fused  it  when  offered,  so  that  Whitely  had  to  give  a  dollar 
to  the  baby  for  a  charm,  and,  just  then,  a  streak  of  sun¬ 
shine  tempted  us  out  on  that  accursed  plain. 

The  streams  that  flow  into  the  Leontes  were  swollen 
and  strong.  The  first  was  difficult,  the  second  was  worse, 
and  at  the  third,  and  no  less  than  five  after  that,  we  sur¬ 
rounded  Miriam’s  horse,  for  she  was  the  weak  one  of  the 


477 


A  TERRIBLE  DAY. 

» 

party,  and  pressed  steadily  and  slowly  across,  against  the 
swift  and  increasing  current. 

Again  we  were  wet,  and  now  no  shelter  presented 
itself.  On,  on,  on,  the  rain  growing  fiercer,  and  the  air 
colder.  I  began  to  think  of  filling  from  my  horse  myself, 
and  but  for  the  presence  of  that  child  and  her  brave  bear¬ 
ing,  I  should  have  selected  the  lee  of  a  bank  and  sat  down 
in  despair.  At  length  the  chestnut  horse  grew  restive. 
It  was  the  first  instance  since  she  had  ridden  him  in  which 
he  had  behaved  illy  with  her.  I  afterward  found  that  it 
was  owing  to  the  manner  in  which  Selim  had  put  on  the 
saddle.  I  rode  up  at  her  right  side  and  as  I  did  so,  the 
horse  deliberately  lay  down  in  the  mud,  and  threw  her 
six  feet  off  on  the  wet,  soft  ground. 

It  was  the  climax  of  woe.  The  storm  was  fierce  and 
furious.  No  sign  of  human  life  was  visible.  We  were  in 
the  centre  of  a  vast  plain,  night  was  approaching,  and  the 
storm  increasing  rather  than  diminishing. 

I  now  sent  Abd-el-Atti  on  to  overtake,  if  possible,  the 
baggage  train,  and  stop  it  at  the  first  habitable  village, 
which  I  understood  was  Maalakha.  He  left  us,  and  we 
rode  slowly  on,  the  worn-out  animals  with  difficulty  lift¬ 
ing  their  feet  out  of  the  heavy  mire. 

At  last  we  saw  a  village  ahead  of  us,  and,  picking  up 
courage,  the  horses  sprang  forward.  Descending  a  slight 
incline,  dashing  into  a  stream  that  ran  strong  up  to  our 
saddle-girths,  we  crossed  it  side  by  side,  and  rode  up  a 
little  eminence,  confident  of  finding  our  men  and  our  rest. 
The  disappointment  was  bitter  when  we  found  that  this 
was  Ablah,  and  our  people  were  not  here,  but  Miriam 
bore  it  best  of  all  of  us,  and  refused  to  dismount.  The 
rain  poured  in  torrents,  and  snow  and  sleet  cut  our  faces 
furiouslv,  as  we  entered  Maalakha,  an  hour  and  a  half  fur- 
ther  on,  just  as  thick  darkness  was  falling  on  the  mount¬ 


ains. 


478 


SHELTER  AT  LAST. 


Abd-el-Atti  bad  secured  for  us  a  house,  belonging  to  a 
Greek  Christian,  one  Nama  el  Hadad,  and  a  boy  met  us 
at  the  entrance  of  the  village  to  guide  us  thither. 

Cold,  shivering,  well-nigh  dead,  I  stumbled  and  nearly 
fell,  as  I  dismounted,  but  gathering  enough  strength  to 
take  Miriam  in  my  arms,  I  carried  her  into  the  hut  and 
laid  her  on  the  floor. 

The  house  was  similar  to  the  one  at  Beit  Jin,  but  in 
place  of  the  broad  fire-place  in  the  corner,  there  was  only 
a  pan  of  coals  in  the  middle  of  the  room.  The  fumes  of 
the  charcoal,  the  smoke  from  half-burned  wood,  the  dim 
light  of  a  lamp,  consisting  of  a  cup  of  oil  with  a  rag 
hanging  over  the  side  of  it,  made  the  place  as  gloomy 
and  disagreeable  as  could  well  be  imagined.  Not  even 
the  idea  of  a  shelter  from  that  pitiless  storm  of  Lebanon 
was  sufficient  to  revive  our  drooping  spirits;  and  when 
the  baggage  came  to  be  opened,  and  we  found  every 
thing  saturated  with  dissolved  leather — shirts  that  looked 
like  buckskin,  collars  that  might  have  been  mummy- 
cloths,  and  the  various  articles  of  a  lady’s  toilet  that 
might  have  served  the  purposes  of  seven  generations  of 
Arabs  without  seeing  soap,  for  all  resemblance  they  had 
to  a  Christian  lady’s  dresses — the  depth  of  our  despair 
was  attained.  It  was  not  till  then  that  we  recovered  our 
voices  or  our  spirits ;  but  the  appearance  of  Wbitely,  as 
he  stood  looking  at  a  pair  of  slippers  which  he  held  in  his 
hand,  and  which  were  filled  with  the  solution  of  a  felt 
hat  and  a  box  of  tooth-powder,  three  cakes  of  Piver’s 
most  delicious  Imperatrice,  and  a  box  of  Malta  cigars, 
changed  our  desperation  to  furious  fun,  and  we  made  the 
village  ring  with  shouts  of  laughter  that  frightened  the 
inhabitants  out  into  the  driving  rain  to  see  what  the 
Franks  were  doing  in  the  house  of  Nama  the  Greek. 

Fortunately,  there  was  one  water-proof  bag  that  con¬ 
tained  enough  of  Miriam’s  baggage  to  enable  her  to  get 


GREEK  CHRISTIANS. 


479 


warm  and  dry.  Rigging  a  curtain  across  the  room,  we 
had  the  beds  and  bedsteads  brought  in,  found  them  in 
a  dry  condition  to  our  great  surprise,  and  arranged  our 
room  with  some  show  of  comfort.  Dinner  helped  not  a 
little.  Hajji  Mohammed  outdid  himself  on  such  occa¬ 
sions,  and  proved  himself  an  Alexander  of  cooks. 

The  family,  into  whose  house  we  had  now  come,  were 
Greek  Christians.  We  saw  only  the  mother  and  two 
sons — one  a  boy  of  thirteen,  the  other  a  young  man  of 
twenty-two.  From  the  moment  of  entering  the  house,  I 
was  satisfied  that  we  were  no  longer  among  honest  Mos¬ 
lems. 

I  had  now  traveled  seven  months  among  Mussulman 
people  of  every  name  and  shade.  I  had  carried  large 
sums  of  money,  some  of  the  time  in  open  baskets  (for  in 
this  way  I  had  carried  copper  coin  into  Nubia),  valuable 
clothing,  arms,  and  ammunition — had  left  my  boat  or  my 
tents  often  without  other  guard  than  my  Arab  servants, 
who  had  free  access  to  every  thing  ;  I  had  absolutely  ig¬ 
nored  locks  and  keys,  and  traveled  with  open  bags,  and 
had  never  lost  a  farthing  by  the  dishonesty  of  a  follower 
of  Mohammed.  It  would  not  have  been  difficult  at  any 
time  while  I  was  in  Syria  to  rob  me  of  a  hundred  pounds 
in  gold,  or  of  any  quantity  of  valuables.  But  I  would 
trust  a  Mussulman  with  my  purse  and  my  life  in  prefer¬ 
ence  to  any  other  man  on  earth.  Sad  as  it  is  for  a  Chris¬ 
tian  to  be  driven  to  such  a  conviction,  I  am  compelled  to 
admit  it. 

An  Arab,  finding  you  traveling  through  his  country  as 
a  stranger,  without  having  applied  to  his  tribe  for  permis¬ 
sion  and  protection,  regards  you  as  an  enemy,  open  to 
plunder.  Such  is  the  law  of  his  fathers,  even  to  Ishmael. 
But  once  having  placed  yourself  under  his  protection,  or 
confided  in  his  honor,  you  are  safer  than  in  your  own 
house  in  New  York.  For  there  burglars  may  enter,  but 


480 


A  DOUBTFUL  FAMILY. 


the  thin  covering  of  the  black  tent,  with  its  law  of  hos¬ 
pitality,  is  a  perfect  guard  against  loss,  rendering  safes 
and  safety-locks  useless. 

But  I  was  now  for  the  first  time  in  a  Christian  house, 
and  I  had  not  been  here  ten  minutes  before  I  began  to 
suspect  my  hosts. 

After  dinner,  as  we  sat  talking  by  the  table,  the  boy 
asked  me  to  lend  him  a  knife  to  mend  a  pencil.  I  had 
none  that  was  sharp  enough,  but  Whitely  took  out  of  his 
pocket  a  very  elegant  and  expensive  traveling-knife,  for 
which  he  had  paid  two  pounds  in  England,  and  handed  it 
to  the  boy,  who  thereupon  disappeared. 

An  hour  afterward  he  remembered  the  knife,  and  asked 
for  it,  but  the  boy  was  gone.  His  mother,  however,  came 
in  from  the  other  room  of  the  house,  in  which  our  serv¬ 
ants  were  stowed  with  the  family,  and  said  that  the  boy 
understood  the  knife  to  be  a  gift.  This  we  told  her  was 
a  mistake.  The  older  brother,  Mousa,  by  name,  came  in 
with  her,  and  added  his  assurances,  but  there  wras  a  bad 
look  out  of  Mousa’s  eyes  that  I  did  not  at  all  like,  and  I 
told  them  very  quietly  that  the  knife  must  be  brought 
back.  They  said  the  boy  had  gone  to  a  house  in  another 
part  of  the  town,  but  they  would  send  for  him,  and  he 
would  be  back  in  half  an  hour.  It  was  approaching  bed¬ 
time,  an  hour  later,  when  we  observed  that  the  boy  had 
not  made  his  appearance.  I  shouted  for  the  woman.  She 
and  Mousa  entered.  She  again  pleaded  the  boy’s  mis¬ 
take,  and  begged  that  he  might  be  allowed  to  keep  it, 
saying  that  he  would  grieve  very  much,  and  his  tender 
feelings  would  be  hurt. 

It  was,  then,  manifest  that  there  was  no  intention  of 
returning  it,  and,  accordingly,  I  took  out  my  watch  and 
laid  it  on  the  table  before  me,  where  already  our  entire 
stock  of  arms  lay  piled,  and  gave  them  three  minutes  in 
which  to  produce  the  knife.  The  change  from  quiet  ques- 


FLEAS  IN  FORCE. 


481 


tioning  to  stern  demand  took  Mousa  by  surprise.  He 
stepped  forward,  fixed  his  eyes  on  mine  with  a  fierce  ex¬ 
pression,  and  perceiving  no  change  of  my  features,  he 
drew  the  knife  out  of  his  bosom  and  laid  it  down  be¬ 
fore  me,  and  went  out.  At  the  same  moment,  the  boy 
himself,  who  had  watched  proceedings  through  a  hole  in 
the  wall,  came  in  blubbering  terribly.  Whitely,  who 
thought  it  possible  that  our  imperfect  knowledge  of 
Arabic  had  led  to  the  mistake,  threw  him  a  dollar  as  a 
quietus  to  his  grief,  and  sent  him  away.  We  then  pre¬ 
pared  to  sleep. 

Of  the  horrors  of  that  night,  the  “  infandum  dolorem,” 
I  am  unable  to  describe  the  sum,  or  the  half.  If  the  king 
of  the  fleas  resides  at  Tiberias,  the  largest  city  in  his  em¬ 
pire  is  at  Maalakha. 

An  hour  after  midnight  I  got  up.  I  had  not  yet  closed 
my  eyes.  My  movements  attracted  Miriam’s  attention 
behind  her  curtain,  and  she  spoke.  Whitely  and  More- 
right  groaned  aloud.  No  one  of  us  had  thus  far  winked 
one  second  of  sleep.  I  had  filled  my  bed  with  an  Egypt¬ 
ian  preparation,  which  had  hitherto  been  efficacious,  but 
what  was  poison  to  such  a  host  ?  I  counted  forty-eight  of 
the  dead  on  my  sheet,  and  the  next  morning  there  were 
fifty-three  more,  making  a  hundred  and  one  that  I  dimin¬ 
ished  the  population  of  Maalakha  that  night,  but  sleep  was 
out  of  the  question,  and  we  passed  the  night  in  mutual 
condolence  and  groanings. 

Next  morning  the  storm  had  changed  to  snow,  and  the 
prospect  was  worse  than  ever.  At  daylight  I  sallied  out 
and  made  a  search  for  a  better  house.  I  found  one 
directly  in  the  rear  of  our  present  quarters,  not  fifty  feet 
from  them.  It  was  a  clean,  neat  mud  house,  white-washed, 
and  inviting  in  appearance.  The  wrath  of  our  first  hosts 
was  dire  when  we  moved,  but  it  was  accomplished  rapidly, 
and  we  felt  as  if  in  a  small  palace  when  we  surveyed  our 

21 


482 


TOMB  OF  NOAH. 


new  arrangements.  It  was  true  that  we  missed  sundry 
articles,  a  coat  of  Miriam’s,  and  two  silver  spoons  from 
the  canteen,  a  knife  and  two  forks,  a  handkerchief  and  a 
table-napkin,  the  whistle  of  my  whip  handle,  Moreright’s 
entire  whip,  and  various  other  little  things,  which  we 
charged  to  profit  and  loss.  Only  one  napkin  Miriam  had 
seen  Madame  Nama  tucking  behind  a  cushion,  and  sent 
Ferrajj  to  find  and  bring  it  out,  which  he  did. 

Moreright  went  off  to  Kerak,  a  little  village  through 
which  we  had  passed  on  our  way  a  half  hour  before 
reaching  Maalakha,  and  there  found  the  supposed  tomb 
of  Noah,  a  hundred  feet  long,  in  a  Moslem  inclosure.  He 
then  went  further  among  the  mountains  with  a  guide, 
and  discovered  a  temple  and  some  strange  excavations  in 
the  rocks,  chambers  on  chambers,  to  the  number  of  forty 
or  fifty,  and  a  man  in  armor  on  his  horse,  led  by  another 
man,  cut  in  colossal  relief  on  the  rock  up  on  the  mountain 
side,  all  which  I  much  regretted  that  I  had  not  accompa¬ 
nied  him  to  see.  I  passed  the  forenoon  within  doors,  and 
when  the  storm  held  up  a  little  I  climbed  to  the  top  of  the 
hill,  for  the  village  is  on  a  steep  hill-side,  and  the  flat 
roofs  of  the  houses  are  like  terraces.  Hence  I  looked 
down  at  the  valley  between  Lebanon  and  Anti-Lebanon, 
and  traced  the  course  of  the  direct  route  from  Damascus 
to  Beyrout,  which  we  had  left  on  the  other  side  of  this 
plain  and  behind  the  opposite  hills. 

Jebel-Es-Sheik,  Mount  Hermon,  stood  white  and  glori¬ 
ous.  It  was  a  delight  to  look  on  the  summit  and  remem¬ 
ber  with  what  calm  beauty  it  looked  down  on  the  sea  of 
Galilee  ;  for  it  seemed  as  if  even  there  I  could  get  some 
of  the  reflected  lights  of  that  divine  spot. 

Zahleh,  the  principal  town  of  this  part  of  the  Lebanon 
district,  is  almost  a  part  of  Maalakha,  for  it  lies  adjoining 
it,  in  a  semicircle,  like  a  theatre,  at  the  head  of  a  valley, 
of  which  Maalakha  commands  the  outlet.  The  houses  ex- 


LEBANON  HILLS. 


483 


tend  almost  to  one  another.  The  stream  in  this  smaller 
valley  was  fierce  and  strong,  winding  no  less  than  thirteen 
times  within  the  half  mile  between  Zahleh  and  the  foot 
of  the  hill  where  I  sat,  and  then  flowing  out  to  the  great 
plain  that  was  now  one  vast  sheet  of  water.  The  reader 
need  not  be  told  that  this  is  drained  by  the  Leontes. 

The  population  of  Zahleh  is  said  to  be  ten  thousand ; 
that  of  Maalakha,  fifteen  hundred  ;  but  this  is  not  count¬ 
ing  the  fleas. 


i 


CljlMSfiqif)  o b 6 e lr s . 

The  sun  rose  bright  and  clear  on  the  third  morning, 
and  we  gathered  our  forces  early  for  a  start.  The  mules 
were  loaded  and  despatched.  Our  horses  were  waiting. 
The  villagers  crowded  around,  and  I  looked  to  my  arms, 
as  usual,  before  mounting.  My  fowling-piece  I  feared 
had  been  wet  with  the  rain  of  the  last  day’s  travel,  and  I 
drew  the  charge,  and  called  Ferrajj  to  bring  me  the  flask 
of  powder  and  shot,  which  were  usually  in  the  luncheon- 
bag.  But  they  were  not  there,  and  no  one  knew  where 
they  were.  I  sent  Abd-el-Atti,  with  a  search-warrant, 
into  Nama’s  house,  and  after  diligent  examination,  he  dis¬ 
covered  them,  stowed  away  behind  a  water-jar  and  some 
other  furniture,  and  after  blowing  up  the  family  generally, 
brought  them  to  me. 

The  powder-flask  was  nearly  empty,  and  the  shot  had 
disappeared.  This  was  past  endurance.  I  could  have 
gone  quietly  if  they  had  stolen  my  purse,  but  powder 
was  worth  ten  times  its  weight  in  gold,  for  my  purposes, 
and  I  walked  out  into  the  crowd  around  the  doorwav, 
determined  to  settle  accounts  with  the  house  of  Kama. 

Mousa  was  standing  on  the  low  roof  of  his  father’s 
house,  looking  furiously  at  the  scene ;  for  Abd-el-Atti’s 
last  words  had  not  been  confidential,  and  the  entire  crowd 
knew  the  terms  on  which  we  were  parting  with  them. 


ROBBED  AND  INSULTED. 


485 


“  Where  is  my  gunpowder,  you  infernal  scoundrel  ?”  I 
demanded,  shaking  the  empty  flask  toward  him. 

“  How  do  I  know  ?  Do  you  mean  to  say  I  am  a 
thief?”  And  he  jumped  down  into  the  crowd  and  ap¬ 
proached. 

“I  mean  just  that.  You,  and  your  father,  and  your 
mother,  and  your  family,  for  untold  generations,  are 
thieves,  and  have  been  thieves,  and  will  be  thieves,  to 
the  remotest  posterity.” 

There  is  nothing  lost  by  a  wholesale  family  denuncia¬ 
tion  in  the  East.  He  sullenly  protested  his  innocence, 
but  made  no  violent  demonstrations.  I  saw,  however, 
that  the  majority  of  those  around,  being  Greek  Christ¬ 
ians,  were  his  friends  and  supporters. 

“  Where  is  the  governor  of  E’Maalakha  ?”  I  demanded. 

“  Gone  to  Beyrout,”  answered  a  dozen  voices. 

“  Where  is  the  sheik  of  the  village  ?” 

“  Here  he  is.”  They  brought  up  a  well-dressed  man 
of  forty,  and  I  suspected  the  trick  on  the  instant. 

“  Will  you  curse  the  cross  of  Christ  ?” 

I  paused  a  moment.  “No?  then  you’re  a  Christian, 
and  no  sheik  of  this  village.” 

By  this  time,  all  were  in  the  saddle  but  myself,  and 
had  gone  on.  I  was  alone  in  the  crowd,  and  finding  that 
it  was  hopeless  to  attempt  any  reparation  of  damages  in 
such  an  assembly,  I  sprang  into  the  saddle,  shouted  a 
threat  of  vengeance  at  Beyrout,  and  rode  down  the  hill 
at  a  gallop,  while  a  cry  of  derision  announced  the  triumph 
of  the  villagers. 

My  party  were  riding  out  of  the  village  on  the  plain, 
and  I  was  overtaking  them  rapidly,  when  I  caught  sight 
of  the  doorway  of  a  better-looking  house  than  the  others, 
before  which  stood  two  soldiers.  Reining  up  with  a  jerk, 
I  demanded  if  this  were  the  governor’s  residence.  It 
"Was ;  and  I  sprang  to  the  ground,  threw  my  rein  to  a 


486 


APPEAL  TO  THE  GOVERNOR. 


soidier,  and,  entering  the  court-yard,  inquired  the  way  to 
the  governor’s  room,  which  I  entered  without  ceremony, 
announced  in  the  usual  way  as  Braheem  Effendi,  the 
American  traveler. 

Suleiman  Bey  was  on  his  bed,  in  morning  dress,  sur¬ 
rounded  by  his  officers,  receiving  their  reports.  At  the 
moment  of  my  entrance  I  heard  the  venerable  sheik  of  the 
village,  a  plain-looking  Arab,  relating  the  fact  that  a  Frank 
party  were  in  the  town  ;  and  the  governor  welcomed  me 
with  much  consideration. 

A  chibouk  and  cup  of  coffee  were  handed  me.  The 
usual  exchange  of  polite  phrases  and  oriental  compliments 
brought  matters  to  the  point  immediately.  His  excel¬ 
lency  did  me  the  honor  to  hope  that  I  had  been  comfort¬ 
able  during  my  visit  at  Maalakha. 

Before  I  had  time  to  reply,  the  rest  of  my  party  came 
in.  They  had  waited  for  me  on  the  plain  ;  and  when  I 
did  not  arrive  they  had  turned  back,  recognized  my  horse 
at  the  door,  and  entered  the  presence.  The  governor  re¬ 
mained  seated  on  his  bed,  bowed  very  politely,  and  wel¬ 
comed  them,  ordering  coffee  and  chibouks ;  and  I  then 
stated  the  history  of  our  visit  to  the  Greek  house,  basing 
my  complaint  not  so  much  on  the  value  of  the  articles 
stolen  as  the  violation  done  to  the  eastern  law  of  hospi¬ 
tality,  which  makes  it  the  duty  of  the  host  to  protect  his 
guest  even  against  the  officers  of  the  law,  and  to  the  ex¬ 
tent  of  sacrificing  his  own  family  and  life. 

Two  soldiers  were  despatched  to  bring  the  offending 
family  to  the  diwan ;  and  while  they  were  gone  we 
smoked  and  drank  coffee,  and  chatted  with  one  another, 
and  with  the  governor. 

Moreright  was  a  man  of  too  kind  and  gentle  feel¬ 
ings  to  yield  readily  to  convictions  of  the  guilt  of  others; 
and  in  this  instance,  he  had,  on  the  previous  day,  used 
much  argument  with  me  to  convince  me  of  the  possi- 


THE  GOVERNOR'S  EXAMINATION. 


487 


bility  that  I  was  wrong  in  believing  them  to  have  com¬ 
mitted  the  minor  thefts.  He  now  urged  me  to  withdraw 
the  complaint  which  he  feared  was,  after  all,  founded  on 
a  mistake.  But  I  was  of  another  way  of  feeling  ;  and 
when  the  soldiers  returned  with  Hama  and  his  older  son 
and  namesake,  I  reiterated  my  descriptions  of  the  young 
man  Mousa,  and  sent  them  back  after  him.  They  brought 
him  at  length.  He  was  the  picture  of  virtuous  indigna¬ 
tion.  He  steal  the  gunpowder!  Hot  he!  He  was  as 
innocent  of  evil  intention  as  his  namesake  the  Prophet ; 
and  he  would  not  give  the  governor  a  chance  for  a  word, 
so  violent  and  incessant  were  his  asseverations. 

“  Stop  him !”  at  length  shouted  Suleiman  in  an  ecstasy 
of  impatience  ;  and  a  sharp  blow  on  his  lips  from  the  flat 
hand  of  a  soldier  hinted  to  him  the  propriety  of  taking 
turns  in  making  a  noise  in  that  presence. 

The  crowd  around  the  house  was  now  increased  to 
more  than  five  hundred,  but  the  countenances  that  had 
been  so  exulting  and  insulting  a  few  moments  before,  on 
the  hill,  were  changed.  Some  of  the  same  men  even 
forced  their  way  into  the  governor’s  room,  keeping  off 
from  the  carpet,  and  a  group  of  thirty  heads  were  on 
the  upper  verandah,  or  landing-place,  outside  the  door, 
striving  to  see  what  was  going  on. 

The  governor  was  on  his  bed,  I  sat  on  a  diwan  opposite 
to  him,  Miriam,  Moreright,  and  Whitely  on  cushions  in 
a  semicircle,  on  the  carpet,  and  behind  them  a  dozen  sol¬ 
diers,  three  or  four  officers,  and  then  some  twenty  or 
more  of  the  people  crowded  within  the  doorway.  A  fine- 
looking  old  man,  richly  dressed,  and  evidently  a  friend  of 
the  governor,  sat  on  the  edge  of  his  bed.  The  secretary 
and  the  sheik  of  the  village,  with  one  or  two  officials, 
finished  the  group  on  that  side  of  the  room.  A  very 
elegant  brazier,  heaped  up  with  coals,  stood  in  the  mid¬ 
dle  of  the  carpet.  All  who  were  of  sufficient  rank  to  be 


488 


COURT  OF  SPECIAL  SESSIONS. 


on  the  carpet  were  smoking,  even  Miriam  who,  in  court¬ 
esy,  had  taken  the  proffered  chibouk  and  touched  it  to 
her  lips. 

I  have  been  particular  in  thus  describing  the  room,  that 
my  reader  may  have  some  idea  of  the  appearance  of  a 
court  of  special  sessions  in  Syria. 

Silence  obtained,  I  stated  the  case  briefly  and  gave 
my  testimony.  A  Mohammedan  court  requires  no  oath. 
The  servants  confirmed  what  I  had  stated.  The  prisoner, 
on  being  called  on  for  his  defence,  began  vociferating 
as  before,  and  the  mother,  who  had  not  been  brought 
into  court,  began  a  wail  outside  that  was  absolutely 
deafening. 

Finding  that  there  was  no  defence,  Suleiman  quietly 
whispered  to  the  officer  nearest  him.  I  could  not  hear 
the  words,  but  the  crowd  understood  it  perfectly.  They 
cleared  the  room  in  an  instant,  and  Mousa  howled  and 
implored,  and  begged,  and  besought,  and  at  length 
shouted  that  he  would  bring  the  powder  and  shot,  and, 
thereupon,  the  sentence  was  suspended.  His  father  and 
brother  departed  in  company  with  an  officer,  and,  after  a 
brief  delay,  returned  with  two  papers,  which  were  handed 
to  the  governor  and  by  him  to  me. 

I  smiled  as  I  opened  them.  The  trick  was  too  palpable : 
they  had  gone  to  a  shop  and  bought  Turkish  powder  and 
some  shot,  which  they  hoped  I  would  accept.  They 
would  then  produce  witnesses  to  prove  that  I  was 
wrong. 

Suleiman  looked  at  me  enquiringly,  and  I  threw  the 
papers  back  to  the  prisoner’s  feet,  with  an  emphatic  de¬ 
nial  of  the  stuff. 

“Take  him  out,”  thundered  the  governor,  now  thor¬ 
oughly  aroused. 

He  was  on  his  back  in  a  twinkling,  howling,  shouting, 
screaming,  but  he  was  carried  out  to  the  piazza  before 


METHOD  OF  EXAMINATION. 


489 


the  door,  where  we  could  see  the  operation,  and  laid  face 
down.  One  man  sat  on  his  back  and  one  on  his  legs, 
the  latter  holding  up  his  feet,  while  a  third  laid  on  the  bare 
soles  a  rhinoceros-hide  koorbash,  that  whizzed  through  the 
air  at  every  stroke. 

Poor  Moreright  was  in  agony,  and  Naina  and  Nama 
the  second  were  on  their  faces,  begging  and  wailing, 
now  embracing  my  knees  and  now  Whitely’s,  while  the 
brother,  outside,  made  the  air  ring  with  cries  louder  than 
Mousa’s.  Even  Yusef,  the  honest  fellow,  whose  house 
we  had  occupied  the  second  night,  came  and  asked  me, 
on  his  knees,  to  relent,  and,  last  of  all,  Betuni — the  dog 
had  lost  a  feed-bag  in  their  house  and  had  been  loudest  in 
his  denunciations  that  morning — besought  the  Howajji  to 
have  mercy  on  the  fellow. 

At  the  fifteenth  blow  he  shouted  his  confession  and  the 
punishment  was  suspended  to  hear  it.  He  was  brought 
in,  and  then  said  that  he  had  taken  the  powder  and  shot 
and  that  it  would  be  found  hidden  in  such  a  place.  We 
sent  and  found  it,  as  also  the  other  missing  articles. 
There  were  some  valuable  things,  that  we  had  not  then 
missed.  Moreright  breathed  freely  as  they  were  brought 
in,  and  smoked  his  chibouk  with  infinite  zest,  now  quite 
relieved  of  doubt.  And  now  the  just  anger  of  Suleiman 
Bey  was  excessive,  and  he  appealed  to  me  to  know  what 
punishment  he  should  inflict  on  the  culprit  family,  to  re¬ 
store  our  good  opinion  of  his  place.  I  declined  interfer¬ 
ing,  and  he,  in  the  first  place,  ordered  the  dollar  which 
Whitely  had  given  to  the  boy,  to  be  returned.  Whitely 
protested  against  this,  but  as  the  order  was  peremptory, 
he  took  it  and  tossed  it  across  to  the  governor’s  secretary 
who  pocketed  it  without  so  much  as  a  thank-you.  The 
entire  family  were  now  in  custody,  and  their  friends 
were  renewing  their  intercessions  for  them.  The  same 
hounds  that  had  been  loudest  in  their  laughter  at  me  on 

21* 


490 


CHANGED  FACES. 


the  hill  were  on  their  knees  now,  and  the  scene  threatened 
to  descend  into  the  ludicrous  if  we  waited  any  longer. 

I  told  the  governor  that,  so  far  as  we  then  knew,  two 
hundred  and  fifty  piastres  (about  ten  dollars)  would  cover 
the  value  of  the  stolen  articles,  and  I  requested  him  to 
fine  the  family  that  amount  as  part  of  the  punishment.  I 
asked  him  if  there  were  any  poor  Mussulmans  in  the  place, 
and  he  said  there  were  a  plenty.  I  begged  him  to  dis¬ 
tribute  the  amount  of  the  fine  among  them,  inasmuch 
as  the  criminals  were  Greek  Christians.  He  promised  to 
do  so,  and  to  add  such  punishment  as  the  flagrant  offence 
against  the  laws  of  hospitality,  as  well  as  the  laws  of  God 
deserved.  Sending  the  entire  family  to  prison,  he  then 
cleared  the  crowd  out  of  his  room,  insisted  on  our  taking 
another  cup  of  coffee,  and  followed  us  to  the  doorway 
with  the  most  distinguished  politeness. 

The  mass  of  people  in  the  court-yard  was  dense  and 
immovable.  There  were  no  shouts  of  derision  now.  As 
I  mounted,  Yusef  once  more  begged  me  to  interfere 
and  have  mercy  on  them,  but  I  looked  around  at  the 
dark  faces  of  the  crowd  and  I  couldn’t  find  one  drop  of 
pity  in  my  heart  for  them.  And  Betuni,  the  scoundrel, 
now  convinced  that  his  feed-bag  was  in  Kama’s  possession, 
and  totally  oblivious  of  his  late  merciful  feelings,  sitting 
on  his  inimitable  donkey,  high  up  on  the  top  of  his  horses’ 
feed  and  his  accustomed  store  of  bread-cakes,  shouted 
at  Yusef : 

“  Let  the  dogs  be  whipped ;  stop  bothering  the  Effendi. 
Don’t  you  understand  justice  here  ?  Teach  them  to  rob 
travelers  next  time — I  think  my  feed-bags  will  be  safe  if 
I  stop  at  Maalakha  again — Y’ Allah  !” — and  he  pioneered 
the  way  to  the  gate,  and  the  crowd  parted  to  let  us  fol¬ 
low.  So  ended  the  cause  of  the  Sultan  against  Hama  and 
Mousa,  tried  in  the  court  of  special  sessions  at  Maalakha, 
Suleiman  Bey,  P.  J.,  on  the  second  day  of  April,  1856. 


*  r 


LAST  VIEW  OF  MOUNT  HERMON.  491 

What  more  is  left  to  be  written?  We  climbed  the 
eastern  slope  of  Lebanon  by  a  long,  tedious,  and  danger¬ 
ous  road.  Torrents  roared  in  the  deep  ravines ;  cascades, 
that  were  Alpine  in  height  and  beauty,  came  pouring 
down  out  of  the  snow-banks  all  the  day,  till  we  had  got¬ 
ten  up  to  the  snow,  and  then  went  over  the  edges  of 
precipices  along  which  our  horses’  feet  found  uncertain 
footing  in  their  swift  currents.  We  rested  for  luncheon 
over  the  ruined  castle  of  Abilias,  that  commanded  the 
road  from  Damascus,  where  it  commences  the  ascent  of 
Lebanon,  and  then  we  went  up  higher  and  higher,  till  at 
three  o’clock,  suddenly,  like  a  vision  of  another  Avorld,  we 
saw  the  blue  Mediterranean  sweeping  far  away  into  the 
clouds,  and  vessels  that  seemed  like  birds  in  the  air. 

It  was  a  moment,  somewhat  like  that  on  Mount  Scopus, 
when  I  saw  the  last  of  the  noble  summit  of  Jebel  Es 
Sheik. 

My  eyes  would  no  more  rest  on  any  hill  or  valley  sanc¬ 
tified  by  his  presence,  whose  life  and  death  made  Holy 
Land.  So  long  as  I  slept  within  sight  of  Hermon  I  felt 
that  I  was  not  yet  wholly  separated  from  the  soil  of 
Canaan,  and  that  I  was  on  ground  which  had  at  least  en¬ 
joyed  the  sight  of  the  same  hills  that  his  eyes  rested  on. 
But  henceforth  I  must  look  up  to  the  stars  as  the  only 
companions  of  my  wanderings  on  which  the  Son  of  Mary 
had  looked  when  he  was  a  wanderer,  and  a  shadow  that 
I  can  not  well  describe,  but  which,  I  believe,  my  reader 
understands,  fell  over  me,  when  at  length  the  lofty 
mountain  with  its  white  crown  disappeared  from  view. 

It  was  long  after  dark  when  we  reached  Khan  Sheik 
Mahmoud.  Ferrajj  had  taken  the  responsibility  of  pitch¬ 
ing  the  tents  on  the  roof  of  the  khan,  finding  the  ground 
around  too  wet.  The  roof  was  of  the  usual  material — 
brush  covered  with  a  foot  of  mud  and  gravel  rolled  hard. 
The  pegs  were  easily  driven  in,  and  so  we  finished  our 


492 


BEYROUI. 


travels  in  Syria — having  slept  in  pretty  much  every  sort 
of  house  and  place — by  sleeping  on  the  top  of  a  khan, 
over  the  heq,ds  of  a  hundred  Arab  muleteers,  mules  and 
camels. 

Six  thousand  feet  below  us  we  saw  the  lights  of  Bey- 
rout,  on  the  shore  of  the  sea,  and  we  slept  to  the  music 
of  a  gentle  mountain  breeze  that  brought  us  dreams  of 
home. 

The  road  next  day  was  execrable.  It  was  the  concen¬ 
tration  of  all  the  badness  of  the  roads  we  had  previously 
traveled.  Lucky  man,  who  has  never  a  worse  road  to 
travel  than  the  top  of  Orange  county  stone  walls,  or  the 
bed  of  a  mountain  torrent.  The  streams  rushed  swiftly  all 
the  way  down  our  path.  Several  times  we  rode  down 
cascades  of  thirty  to  fifty  feet  descent,  where  it  seemed 
incredible  that  the  horses  could  find  footing.  No  expres¬ 
sions  can  be  found  to  convey  a  just  idea  of  these  roads 
of  Syrian  travel,  for,  as  Whitely  remarked,  “  If  one  say 
but  half,  he  will  be  accused  of  romancing  and  will  not  be 
believed.” 

Ragged  from  head  to  foot,  stained  with  the  red  mud  of 
the  plain  of  Baalbec,  and  sun-burned  to  the  true  Bedouin 
shade  of  color,  we  entered  the  pine  groves  of  Beyrout, 
and  getting  up  for  the  last  time  a  faint  sort  of  gallop,  we 
rode  up,  in  a  straggling  line,  to  the  gate  of  the  city,  but 
instead  of  entering  it,  we  skirted  the  southern  side  and 
reached  the  hotel  of  Demetri,  on  the  sea  shore,  where  we 
were  rejoiced  once  more  at  the  appearances  of  European 
comfort. 

I  scarcely  think  my  best  friend  would  have  recognized 
me  in  the  guise  I  then  appeared  in. 

The  waves  of  the  sea  came  dashing  over  the  rocks  at 
the  very  front  of  Demetri’s  house.  I  sprang  from  my 
horse,  hurried  to  the  room  Abd-el-Atti  had  prepared  for 
me,  for  he,  as  usual,  had  come  on  ahead,  and  then  I 


LAST  GALLOT. 


493 


rushed  out  and  down  to  the  rocks,  and  plunged  into  the 
glorious  surf.  Was  it  not  magnificent !  How  I  laughed 
at  the  laughter  of  the  waves,  how  cheerily  I  shouted  to 
them,  how  I  tried  my  voice,  if  perchance  it  might  go 
echoing  and  glancing  along  from  wave-top  to  wave-top, 
right  westward  to  ears  far  distant !  How  I  lay  down  on 
the  breasts  of  the  waves,  and  was  rocked  to  and  fro  by 
their  glorious  heavings ! 

But  the  book  is  full.  I  must  pause  just  here.  Bey- 
rout  had  much  to  interest  me  during  the  week  that  I 
remained  in  it,  but  I  have  not  space  to  describe  any  of 
this.  The  noble  American  missionaries  (Dr.  Smith  es¬ 
pecially,  who  has  but  just  now  gone  to  God,  where 
Arabian  and  American  Christians  talk  the  same  lan¬ 
guage,  but  where,  I  doubt  not,  he  finds  the  reward  he  so 
well  deserved  for  his  untiring  labors  to  make  the  word 
of  God  here  intelligible  to  one  as  to  the  other),  were  our 
friends,  and  we  enjoyed  their  hospitality  with  the  utmost 
delight. 

I  rode  out  to  the  pass  of  the  Nahr-el-Kelb,  where  the 
armies  of  successive  nations  and  centuries  have  marched 
by  and  carved  their  tablets  as  they  passed,  until  the 
rocks  of  the  hill  bear  more  such  inscriptions  than  perhaps 
any  other  pass  in  the  world. 

Returning  along  the  sands  of  the  sea,  we  had  a  glo¬ 
rious  run  of  seven  miles  to  Beyrout,  with  the  spray 
dashing  cool  and  delicious  over  our  foreheads.  That  was 
my  last  gallop  with  the  good  horse  Mohammed.  I  won¬ 
der  what  is  his  fate.  Whether  he  wanders  around  Tad- 
mor  in  the  wilderness,  or  is  down  in  the  desert  of 
Sinai.  What  Bedouin  rides  him  in  the  Howaran,  what 
fierce  desert  fray  my  good  steed  was  in  last  night,  under 
what  palm-tree  he  stands  in  the  starlight,  what  childrens’ 
tiny  fingers  feed  him  crusts  of  bread  on  the  slopes  of 
Lebanon. 


494 


THE  GOOD  HORSE  MOHAMMED. 


The  steamer  for  Constantinople  lay  at  anchor  off  the 
port.  The  breeze  was  off-shore,  and  a  boat  came  up 
among*  the  rocks  in  front  of  the  hotel  to  receive  us  and 
our  baggage.  It  was  a  still,  delicious  morning.  The 
sunshine  lay  on  Lebanon  like  a  glory.  The  muleteers 
and  servants  gathered  around  the  boat.  It  was  hard 
parting  from  the  companions  of  seven  months  of  adven¬ 
turous  travel  between  Nubia  and  Damascus. 

Ferrajj  was  gleaming  in  the  splendor  of  clean  white 
robes.  Hajji  Mohammed  was  silent,  and  I  thought  not 
unmoved.  Betuni  was  furious  in  his  grief.  They  stood 
on  the  rocks  while  Abd-el-Atti  helped  Miriam  to  her 
seat  in  the  boat,  and  as  I  looked  up  at  the  dark-skinned 
group,  Mohammed,  who  had  been  feeding  in  the  open 
yard  around  the  hotel,  came  down  to  the  bank  with 
curious  eyes,  as  if  he  began  to  suspect  something  wrong, 
and  looked  so  wistfully,  that,  on  my  honor,  it  was  more 
difficult  to  leave  him  than  all  the  rest ;  I  waved  my 
hand  to  him  and  to  his  companions,  for  he  had  been 
as  honorable  and  faithful  as  they,  and  a  long  easy  swell 
carried  us  out  of  the  break  in  the  rocks,  into  the  open 
sea. 

So  I  left  the  Holy  Land. 


APPENDIX. 


ADVICE  TO  TRAVELERS  VISITING  SYRIA. 


It  is  a  matter  of  great  surprise  to  me  that  so  few  Americans 
visit  Jerusalem,  when  it  is  so  easy  of  access.  There  is  a  regular 
French  steamer  from  Marseilles  every  two  weeks,  which  touches  at 
Jaffa,  on  its  route  from  Alexandria  to  Constantinople,  and  another 
which  touches  on  the  return  voyage.  There  is  an  Austrian  steamer 
from  Alexandria  to  Constantinople,  and  a  return  steamer  also ;  so 
that  the  traveler  may  leave  Alexandria  for  Jaffa,  on  any  Friday, 
by  one  or  the  other.  If  he  be  at  Constantinople,  he  may  leave  that 
port  on  an  Austrian  steamer  one  week,  or  a  French  steamer  the 
next  week,  and  go  down  to  Beyrout,  Haifa,  or  Jaffa. 

The  American  traveler  in  Europe  who  desires  to  visit  the  Holy 
City,  will  do  so  from  Alexandria  or  Constantinople,  as  seems  best 
for  liis  own  convenience.  Advice  for  his  route  to  Alexandria,  and 
preparations  for  visiting  Egypt,  he  will  find  in  my  volume  of 
“  Boat  Life  in  Egypt  and  Nubia.” 

In  regard  to  the  preparations  necessary  for  a  Syrian  tour,  every 
thing  will  depend  on  the  extent  of  the  tour,  and  the  persons  com¬ 
posing  the  party.  It  is  perfectly  easy  for  gentlemen  to  reach 
J erusalem  without  any  preparations,  or  dragoman.  Landing  from 
the  steamer  at  Jaffa,  they  will  find  an  American  consular  agent 
and  American  missionaries,  who  will  instantly  provide  them  with 
means  of  procuring  horses.  They  can  ride  up  to  Jerusalem  in  a 
single  day,  if  they  ride  early  and  late.  If  there  be  ladies  in  the 
party,  preparations  must  be  made  beforehand;  and  for  this  pur- 


49G 


ADVICE  TO  TRAVELERS, 


pose,  if  the  traveler  come  from  Alexandria,  he  will  find  it  best  to 
complete  all  his  purchases  there.  There  is  no  hotel  at  Jaffa. 
Some  one  is  about  to  erect  or  open  one.  It  may  be  already  done, 
but  I  have  not  heard  of  it. 

Tents  and  furniture,  dragoman,  cook,  servants,  and  provisions, 
must  be  procured  in  Egypt.  The  dragoman  will  supply  all  these 
by  contract.  The  rates  are  variable,  as  the  dragoman  may  succeed 
in  imposing  on  the  traveler.  G-entlemen  alone,  in  a  party  of  three 
or  more,  should  never  pay  over  one  pound  each ;  or,  if  paying  more, 
should  require  extra  good  tents,  beds,  and  furniture  of  all  kinds- 
Gentlemen  with  ladies  will  pay  a  pound  and  a  quarter  for  each 
person,  and  have  the  finest  possible  arrangements. 

The  usual  form  of  a  contract  with  a  dragoman,  for  Syria,  is  for  a 
certain  journey,  with  so  many  days’  rest  in  various  places,  at  a 
fixed  sum  for  the  entire  journey.  But  the  traveler  who  wishes  his 
own  time  in  each  place,  will  find  it  preferable  to  pay  his  own  ex¬ 
penses  as  he  goes  along,  or  to  make  his  contract  with  his  dragoman 
by  the  day. 

If  the  ride  from  Jerusalem  to  Jaffa  be  too  much  for  one  day,  the 
traveler  will  find  a  hospitable  Latin  convent  at  Ramleh,  where 
they  have  clean  rooms,  but  no  beds  or  bedding.  He^can  judge  by 
my  account  of  the  house  of  the  American  agent  there,  whether  to 
try  his  rooms. 

At  Jerusalem  there  are  two  tolerably  fair  inns,  where  board  and 
lodging  can  be  obtained.  Elsewhere,  in  Syria,  the  tent  is  the 
safest  dependence,  in  all  weather,  for  shelter  and  comfort. 

The  traveler  who  purposes  visiting  Syria  will  need  to  provide 
himself  with  good  pistols.  I  recommend  the  volcanic  pistol,  for¬ 
merly  known  as  Jennings’  patent,  as  altogether  preferable  to  any 
that  I  have  seen.  It  is  light,  safe,  and  sure,  and  the  ammunition 
compact  and  easily  carried.  For  clothing,  he  will  need  the  warm¬ 
est,  if  his  visit  be  in  the  spring,  which  is  the  safest  season  to  visit 
the  Holy  Land.  Saddles,  both  for  gentlemen  and  ladies,  must  be 
procured  before  going  to  Syria,  and  the  traveler  who  consults  his 
perfect  comfort,  will  look  out  for  and  buy  a  good  horse,  expecting 
to  sell  him  at  a  sacrifice  when  he  leaves  the  country. 

I  have  said  nothing  of  the  route  from  Cairo  across  the  desert, 
because  this  is  now  little  used.  The  journey  of  forty  days  by  way 


ADVICE  TO  TRAVELERS. 


497 


of  Sinai,  or  the  long  desert  as  it  is  usually  called,  scarcely  repays 
one  for  the  fatigue  incurred,  while  the  little  desert  road,  to  Gaza, 
is  avoided  by  the  sea  voyage. 

In  coming  from  Constantinople,  it  is  better  to  enter  Syria  at 
Beyrout.  Here  are  good  hotels,  plenty  of  dragomans,  and  all  con¬ 
veniences  for  the  commencement  of  a  Syrian  journey.  It  would 
be  a  pleasure  to  know  what  traveler  is  this  spring  occupying  my 
canvas  home,  which  I  left  in  Beyrout,  in  which  I  passed  so  many 
nights  of  tent-life  on  the  hills  of  Holy  Land. 

It  is  not  uncommon  for  gentlemen,  who  wish  to  travel  economi¬ 
cally,  to  visit  Palestine  without  tents,  trusting  to  such  lodging  as 
they  can  obtain  in  the  mud  huts  of  the  natives.  It  is  a  severe 
trial  to  the  strength  and  powers  of  endurance  of  any  man,  and  I 
strongly  advise  the  most  hardy  not  to  attempt  it.  It  is  this  that 
has  sacrificed  many  noble  young  Americans  to  Syrian  fevers. 
Roughing  it  in  this  manner,  exposed  to  all  weathers,  with  no  shel¬ 
ter  at  night  but  the  filthy  huts  of  the  people  overrun  with  vermin 
and  destitute  of  beds  or  covering — pushing  on  day  after  day, 
week  after  week,  the  traveler  at  length  sinks  under  the  fatigue, 
which  is  greater  from  the  constant  excitement  of  travel  in  Holy 
Land,  and  finds  at  last  a  grave  in  the  soil  he  so  venerates.  Such 
graves  are  among  the  most  melancholy  spots  pointed  out  to  the 
wanderer  over  the  soil  of  Canaan. 

One  grave  I  well  remember  that  I  lingered  beside  with  in- 
tensest  interest.  It  was  that  of  a  young  French  lady,  who  fell 
a  victim  to  her  devotion  to  a  holy  pilgrimage,  and  died  in  her  tent, 
surrounded  indeed  by  many  friends,  but  destitute  of  that  attend¬ 
ance  and  those  comforts  which  might  perhaps  have  saved  her. 

Whether  Holy  Land  will  ever  be  more  accessible  to  travelers,  is 
a  problem  I  shall  not  undertake  to  solve.  There  may  be  a  rail¬ 
way  from  Jerusalem  to  the  coast  some  day,  but  at  present  there  is 
nothing  to  warrant  such  an  enterprise. 

In  concluding  this  volume,  it  remains  only  for  me  to  express 
my  thanks  to  Mr.  J.  A.  Adams  for  the  beautiful  vignettes  which 
ornament  so  many  of  the  chapters.  I  have  elsewhere  spoken  of 
the  larger  illustrations,  whose  accuracy  may  be  relied  on. 


498 


THE  END. 


OINCE  this  book  has  been  in  the  hands  of  the  printer,  I  have 
^  received  most  sad  intelligence  from  the  East. 

In  writing  these  pages,  I  had  no  opportunity  of  consulting  my 
friend  Moreright  as  to  my  use  of  his  true  name,  which  I  therefore 
took  the  liberty  of  concealing  under  this  title. 

I  can  never  consult  him  now.  There  are  many  who  will  have 
recognized  him  in  the  scenes  I  have  described.  There  is  no  one 
word  I  have  written  that  I  would  change  now.  He  was  a  good 
friend,  an  earnest,  noble  man.  He  is  gone ! 

We  parted  in  Stamboul  last  May.  On  the  16th  day  of  Decem¬ 
ber,  1856,  having  visited  Mosul  -and  Nineveh,  where  we  had 
hoped  to  be  together,  he  died  at  Diarbekir,  and  was  buried  on 
the  bank  of  the  Tigris. 

I  would  there  were  space  for  more.  This  brief  page  contains 
not  room  to  record  his  virtues.  However  distant  and  diverse 
may  be  my  wanderings,  I  shall  never  forget  the  companion  of  my 
pilgrimage  to  Jerusalem,  the  sunshine  of  our  pleasant  journeyings 
together,  and  our  months  of  Tent  Life  in  the  Holy  Land. 


By  William  C.  Prime. 


Boat  Life  in  Egypt  &  Nubia. 

Boat  Life  in  Egypt  and  Nubia.  By  William  C.  Prime,  Au¬ 
thor  of  “The  Old  House  by  the  River,”  “Later  Years,” 
&c.  Illustrations.  i2mo.  Muslin,  $i  25. 


Tent  Life  in  the  Holy  Land. 

By  William  C.  Prime,  Author  of  “The  Old  House  by  the 
River,”  “Later  Years,”  &c.  Illustrations.  i2mo.  Mus¬ 
lin,  $1  25. 


The  Old  House  by  the  River. 

By  William  C.  Prime,  Author  of  the  “  Owl  Creek  Letters.” 

i2mo.  Muslin,  75  cents. 


Later  Years. 

By  William  C.  Prime,  Author  of  “The  Old  House  by  the 
River.”  1 2mo,  Muslin,  $1  00. 


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